


Taken From the Names of False Gods

by 1lostone



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e05 Bread and Circuses, Hurt/Comfort, Leonard McCoy (should be a warning!), M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Reboot version of TOS episode, Rimming, T'hy'la, Whump, non-canon typical violence, possessive vulcans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise crew finds themselves on a planet that is bizarrely like Roman times from old Earth history.  Then,  of course, everything goes to shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romanse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanse/gifts).



> A/N: Loosely based on the TOS ep Bread and Circuses. **romanse1** on lj requested very graphic, gritty, Spartacus-like H/C Kirk/Spock. She was kind enough to bid $30.00 and win me at the **thebig24**. auction. All my love and thanks, bb! **This is extremely graphic. The H comes way, way before C, so if you’re easily offended by graphic descriptions of violence you might want to give this one a miss.** Please see the endnotes for specific warnings, posted once the entire fic is done. 
> 
> Set vaguely after the events of STXII and STXIII, so assume spoilers. 
> 
> Thanks to jlm121, thatworldinverted, and diva0789 for cheerleading and betaing and just general awesomeness.

* * *

 

  


_‘the public has long since cast off its cares_

_the people who once bestowed_

_commands, consulships, legions_

_and all else,_

_now meddles no more_

_and longs eagerly for just two things----_

_Bread and Circuses.’_

  


**\--Part I--**

 

Jim fights as they drag him out of his cell, but he doesn’t have a fucking chance in hell. He knows it. His guards know it, and worst of all... the crowd knows it. He twists his exhausted body as he attempts to break free. Against the five guards and their gear though, Jim knows it’s a stupid attempt. He kicks and bites, reduced to desperation. His nails gouge blood-filled divots in their skin until he’s backhanded across the face, absently as though he was nothing but an annoying insect.

 

He loses consciousness. It hardly matters.

 

He’s dead anyway.

 

*****

******

 

A shock of ice cold water.

 

Jim jerks, gasping. His vision is blurry when he opens his eyes. For a second he thinks that he’s still drugged. He _wishes_ he was still drugged. It would be so much easier to just check out; to ignore his fear and rage. He’s ashamed at how little fight he has left in him.

 

Slowly, he blinks away the red tinge in his eye. Merikus had hit him so hard that he had broken Jim’s cheekbone, and he knew that there was damage there. Drusilla had cried when she saw the damage, but Jim had been too hurt to react to the slave’s tears or her feeble attempts to clean him up. The other eye is swollen shut, the eyelid puffy and hot to the touch.

 

Even without being able to see clearly, Jim knows that he’s being watched. It’s endless. Invasive. Terrifying. He can hear the dull roar of the crowd, hear their feet stomping in unison, waiting for the show that they were promised. The coliseum is incomprehensibly more vast than he had thought. He is the mouse looking up at the hawk swooping down to eat him. The stone looks to be centuries old, levels rising up and up and up into the bright blue sky. From Jim’s vantage point it looks endless, filled with indistinct shapes screaming for his death. At his dazed blink, all he can see is a whirl of pale faces, all screaming and jeering.

 

Slowly a word becomes more distinct to his concussed brain. The furious crowd is chanting: _Iugula! Iugula! Iugula!_ over and over, dragging out each syllable in unison. For a dead word it sounds powerful and strong with the power of hundreds of thousands of voices behind it. They are calling for Jim’s death.

 

Jim’s used to being the center of attention. That stirs something inside of him, some speck of _Captain Kirk_ , and he straightens, ignoring the pain in his back and hips as he straightens his shoulders, jerking his head up. He’s naked, brutalized, bleeding from cuts and abrasions all over his skin. His ribs sing to him a melody of agony, causing his breath to shorten and stutter.

 

The tone of the crowd takes on a jeering quality. Jim sees two of his captors slowly walk up on either side of where he stood. One was the ham-handed guard that swatted him from before. The other Jim doesn’t know. They both walk perfectly in step as they approach the dais from either side of the tunnel, slamming their spears into the ground and saluting Merikus and Proconsul Marcus by striking their own chests.  At the salute, the crowd is silenced as one. It’s eerie as much as anything. Jim could have heard a pin drop. Jim can hear himself panting, struggling to breathe with broken ribs. It seems too loud in the sudden quiet.

 

Jim allows himself to meet Merikus’ steely gaze. It’s utterly bizarre for him to even acknowledge that he _knows_ this guy, back when he was just Merik.  Dimly, Jim can see that the two men are situated across the floor of the coliseum. Their dias is much higher, signifying their higher status. Jim is at the other end of the arena. He can see the slaves crowded miserably together on the second level, the thick chains wrapped around their hands. He knows that it will be their job to raise the crucifix once Jim is properly impaled on it. He’s a lesson to them; a living tableau against the idea of opposing the status quo.  

 

Jim blinks, unable to keep from jutting his chin out. He’s aware of the cameras, broadcasting this to the millions of citizens who couldn’t see the live show and knows that they can see the brief spark of hopefulness extinguished at the pronounced thumbs up Merikus gives Jim’s captors. The crowd goes _insane_ with approval; the immense wave of noise as painful as anything else that had happened to him before.

 

Jim feels his lips tremble. He knows that there is no chance. There will be no reprieve. He did what he did to save Bones and Spock,  and he will not apologize for that. Still, for a brief second Jim wishes that he wasn’t going to die alone.

 

He won’t cower in front of them.  He _will not._

 

He does anyway.

 

*****

******

They make him bend down, forcing him into the indignity of laying down onto the long part of the cross, knowing that it is going to be what kills him.  Jim doesn’t struggle as they fasten the collar around his neck.  It wasn’t the first collar that they made him wear, and he didn’t bow to that one, either. He’s sickened to realize that it’s caked with the detritus of some other person’s death: blood, vomit and sweat. Other people, probably. Jim is hardly the first person to die this way.

 

Neither guard is gentle as they stretch his arms up and out, ensuring that his wrists and hands are in the exact center of the cross beam. Jim can’t help the groan and the skinnier guard presses almost lovingly on JIm’s broken ribs, causing him to spasm against the thick collar that kept his neck in place.

 

The crowd loves it.

 

He expects it, but it’s still a shock as each guard, still moving in perfect unison ( _and ohgod oh_ god _it hurts to think of how many times they’ve done this; how many other people have died like him no **no** no he can’t think about this, has to stop shove it back shove it out of his brain or he won’t stop screaming and fuck them if they’re getting any more of a show out of him_) move away from the cross to something that Jim can’t see. The collar keeps him from turning his head to look, but Jim is pretty sure that he doesn’t want to see what they’re holding anyway.

 

He’s right.  The crowd is on their feet again, stomping and screaming. Jim can only see out of what’s left of his peripheral vision, but the muscles in broad back of the guard shifts and ripples as he raises something up, showing them off.

 

Jim closes his eyes.

 

If Jim had a bird’s eye view- he would see that the steel nails are thick, easily an inch thick. They end in a serrated edge so that they will cut through flesh and muscle and tendon with ease. Both guards do his wrists first, placing the nails in the very center of his wrists. Another two nails go at his elbows, and another two in the thick, ropey biceps of his arms.

 

But, Jim’s doesn’t have a bird’s eye view. He’s here; center stage.

 

His body is prone to pain. He’s hurt himself and been hurt by others in a thousands of different ways. And truth be told, it’s not the bright flare of pain that makes him forget that he wasn’t going to scream. There’s a sound when each one embeds itself into the wood of the cross beam, crisp and meaty like the sound of a snapped chicken bone as the guards carefully avoid any major arteries and organs. As he draws in breath to scream, Jim thinks crazily that if he had to hear that sound again, it wouldn't matter what they do to him. He’d be too insane to notice.

 

The crowd’s chant changes again. They know that they’re controlling this show, and revel in the power that it gives them. Jim can’t hate them for it.

 

He doesn’t think that they know any better.

 

“Libero! _Libero_! **_Libero_**!” Their demand that he be raised gets louder and louder until Jim can feel it in the back of his teeth. The links of the chains drag against each other as the slaves begin to pull, causing the heavy wood to slowly rise up from it’s position on the dias. The other four guards from earlier quickly snap it into place. The crash of the thick chains being released onto the stone is loud in Jim’s ears over the roaring of the crowd.

  


*****

******

 

His body sags against the collar and nails as gravity pulls him down. It is fucking _agonizing_. Jim thought that he’d be able to ignore it, to lock himself in his mind until the end.

 

Jim is an idiot.

  


*****

******

After a while, Jim can’t keep his body still. He’s completely lost track of time. The damaged nerves in his body don’t seem to know that they’re completely fucked, and every once in awhile, Jim will writhe in place, half strangling himself as he spasms in place. They’d started this little party at sunup, but since Jim couldn’t turn his head he couldn’t look at where the sun was to gauge the time. Hours. It had to be.

 

Yesterday, while still in the slave pens, Jim hadn’t understood the pitying glances the other slaves had given him when the guards had ordered that he drink. The water had been tepid and tasted faintly of iron, but Jim had gorged himself. Jim hadn’t had the heart to take food away from the other slaves, so had eaten on a few bites of bread in the days that he’d been locked up. The water was a comforting weight in his belly, and he had surprised himself by sleeping, comforted by the relative rareness of being full.

 

Now though? Now it made sense.  

 

The screams of the crowd when he first began to piss himself were humiliating, which was rather the point.  His urine burned when it touched the cuts on his legs, and that was just something else Jim had to endure. He couldn’t keep the flies away from him. Given everything else that had happened, Jim never thought that the incessant drone and biting sting of insects would be a big deal. Some long-grained instinct had him tensing in reaction when they bit his flesh, which caused him to feel the rip of flesh around the nails that held him to the cross beam.  

 

Jim lost track of time. He didn’t know if it was actually dark, or if he had dreamed it. He was lost in his head, meeting ghosts of his past and fanciful spectres of a future he’d never see. Sometimes he talked. He pleaded and begged with them. He was scared. He was sorry. He was ashamed. Please don’t leave him alone like this. Not like this.

 

*

**

 

When they crushed his legs, all Jim could do was scream.  

 

The cameras recorded it in loving detail.

 

*****

******

Spock wouldn’t look at him. He stood with his arms held behind his back, staring out at the streaks of stars and planets through the observation deck’s windows. Jim was so tired. He just wanted to sag into Spock’s strength, just for a second. But Spock wouldn’t look at him.

 

“I’m not gonna apologize.”  

 

Jim’s voice sounded weird. It hurt to talk. For some reason he was dreadfully, painfully thirsty. His voice almost didn’t sound like his own.

 

“Come on, Spock. You telling me you wouldn’t have done the same thing? ‘Cuz that’s bullshit. You’re the one that told me that the needs of the many outweigh... blah blah blah.”

 

Jim wanted to reach out to him, but couldn’t. He tried again, but it was like his arms wouldn’t work. He was just so fucking tired. Maybe he could just rest for a minute. Just a second or two. Just to shake off the edge of this strange lethargy. Then he could finish their conversation.

 

Jim shut his eyes.

 

Just for a minute.

 

* * *

* * *

 

TBC!  (you might want to subscribe for updates!) 

 

 

As always, thanks for commenting and the concrit, either here [tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/), or [twitter](https://twitter.com/1geekgirl)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See previous chapter's warnings. Notes on the timeline at the end.... (includes spoilers for STID)

A/N: Entire bits of dialogue and plot are taken directly from this transcript of [Bread and Circuses](http://www.chakoteya.net/startrek/43.htm).  Rights to all that belong to a number of people who are not me. :D  You can, however watch the episode on Netflix if you are so inclined.  

**-Part II-**

 

**_Captain’s log, stardate 2261.170_ ** _._

_You would think that after almost a year, talking to myself would make me feel less like an assclown. Nope. We--_

 

“Shit. Computer, delete previous log, authorization Kirk, James T.” Jim scratched absently at the edge of his nose, making a goofy face in the reflective surface of his desk.  He understood the reason why Starfleet would want their Commanding officers to start with these log things, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they really weren’t as private as he’d been assured. Hell, Jim could hack into Starfleet records with hardly any effort.

 

At the onset of their five-year mission, Jim had been so pathetically grateful to be on his ship again; out doing what he loved to do, that he’d willingly agreed to all the security stipulations.  But a part of him still balked at putting mission information in his logs. Even his own private logs. Still, in the interests of playing politics...

 

**_Captain’s log, stardate 2261.170_ ** _._

_We’ve been called to investigate what appears to be wreckage identified as the_ SS Beagle. _Further investigation shows that the_ Beagle _was last captained by an old friend of mine, Captain R M Merick._

 

_The wreckage was extensive. We first came across a part of a nacelle, completely blown to shit. Spock and Chekov managed to follow the wreckage back to the FGC 892 System.  Not much is known about this system, which is my fancy “Captainy” way of saying we have no fucking idea what we’re going into.  That probably shouldn’t be such a good thing, right? Still, I admit that I want to know what happened to Merick. I remember him as being someone who liked to drink more than study. Kind of a dick, to be honest. Still, seeing the wreckage of his ship makes me want to know what happened to him. From merchant marine to blip of space dust is_ **not** _the way I want to go out._

 

**_Captain’s log, stardate 2261.171, supplemental._ **

_I’ve seen a lot of weird shit since I’ve been out in the black. It still sometimes blows my mind that we continue to see a historical repeat of things that have happened in old Earth history.  We found the rest of the_ Beagle _, empty of all life forms in orbit around a Class M planet. It’s like Earth, but not. Spock says that the proportion of land to water is exactly as on Earth. Density five point five, diameter seven nine one seven at the equator, atmosphere seventy eight percent nitrogen, twenty one percent oxygen. Nice to know that we won’t have to go down in any protective clothing, I guess.  Still- I can’t help but wonder what exactly happened to the_ Beag _\--”_

 

“Spock to Captain Kirk.”

 

“Computer, pause  transmission.”  Jim sat back in his chair, raising his arms up in a stretch, trying to ignore the sudden influx of adrenaline at Spock’s carefully blank voice. “Kirk here. Yeah, Spock?”

 

“Your presence is requested on the Bridge, sir.”

 

Jim sighed. So much for getting an early night’s sleep. “On my way. Kirk out.”

 

Jim stood up and stripped off his Academy sweats, finding a clean uniform and dressing quickly.  It wasn’t the first time that Spock had had to interrupt Jim after his shift technically ended, and it wouldn’t be the last. Still, Jim wished could say that the necessity of having the Captain on the bridge was the only thing that had had him moving so quickly.

 

It wasn’t.

 

It wasn’t even close.

 

He felt like a fucking teenager who unexpectedly heard their crush’s voice. A few days ago Jim had caught himself inventing a reason to go see Spock in his labs.

 

It _sucked._

 

Jim didn’t see any of his crew as he made his way from his quarters to the lift. He leaned back against the back wall and pinched the top of his nose, frowning.  It wasn’t just that a little crush (okay- a four- year crush, whatever.) was pathetic. It was fucking unprofessional. And that pissed him off.

 

After... everything that had happened: the weeks dirtside, the cleanup of the Academy buildings that had been destroyed, the funerals... getting the Enterprise for an actual _five year_ exploration mission  had still been a shock. The first time that Sulu had taken them out it had hit Jim like a punch to the face that Pike wasn’t back there watching his ass anymore.

 

Oh, sure Jim had resented Pike at the time. Jim had been convinced that he was above all that. That somehow cockiness could in any way make up for experience.  Then he’d had his ass handed to him by a batshit insane megalomaniac with a penchant for monologuing, and ... well, now he had experience. A little bit of caution. Jim liked to think that Pike would be proud of him.

 

Still, the old man would laugh his ass off if he knew that Jim was in... Nope. That Jim had a little preoccupation with his first officer.

 

The lift doors opened with a _swoosh_ , and Jim stepped through, nodding to the ensign that saluted him. Jim couldn’t help the faint twitch of lips at the calling of “Captain on the Bridge!” that followed his first step onto the bridge of his Enterprise. Hubris-or Pride-; he didn’t much give a fuck. It was his, and he was damn proud each and every time he walked through onto his bridge.  Jim caught a glimpse of Uhura working quickly at her station, her face blank as she worked. For her to beat him there, Spock must have called her first.

 

Spock had already turned, standing gracefully from the Captain’s chair. They were on the tail end of the Beta shift. Jim nodded a few times at crew members’ smiles as they left their stations. There was the normal kerfuffle from people stepping aside and logging in and out of bridge stations, and Jim stood to the side, waiting patiently for Spock’s acknowledgement, knowing that his Vulcan First Officer would wait to speak until the hubbub had died down.  A quick view of the viewscreen showed that the Enterprise was in orbit around a class M planet, which given the information he’d had from the last shift report, Jim knew to be the same planet where they had found the wreckage from the _Beagle_.  

 

The lift doors opened and Chekov stumbled out, looking as though he didn’t even notice the cup of coffee that was clutched in his hand. Jim had to bite the inside of his cheek when Sulu took it out of his hand and handed it off to an ensign that was just coming off shift.  Chekov rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn, flopping down onto his seat with a muffled grunt.

 

Sulu refused to meet Jim’s gaze, seating himself with a carefully blank face. The lift doors shut behind the last of the departing crew members.

 

“Captain.”

 

“Commander.”

 

There was a muffled snort from one of the crew people behind Jim to his left. Jim winced inwardly. He hadn’t meant to mock the inflection in Spock’s voice. It had just sort of slipped out without Jim making a conscious decision. That kept happening. Jim would mean to say something one way, and it would come out completely wrong, as though he was deliberately trying to be as much of a dick to Spock as he could possibly be.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim tried not to find it endearing, and failed rather miserably.  “The wreckage has been confirmed as the Beagle.” Spock tapped something and the viewscreen zoomed in, showing the twisted, melted metal that was once a starship. Spock tugged the front of his shirts with a careful, precise move and stepped to Jim’s right, waiting for him to take the Captain’s chair.  “However, scans show that there are no biological remains in or around the wreckage.”

 

That was weird. “No bodies?”

 

Spock’s face twitched in the way Jim knew was the Vulcan’s version of an eyeroll. Jim couldn’t believe him. Oh yeah- Spock could say that he was unemotional until he was green in the face (green in the face, _ha_ , Jim was fucking _hilarious_ ), but Jim knew that when people repeated things after Spock had just said them drove the Vulcan absolute bugshit. “No, sir.”

 

Which is why Jim did it whenever he could.  There was more than one reason Jim called this ... thing a crush. His ridiculous urge to pull Spock’s pigtails was just one of them. Jim opened his mouth to give the order, but before he could speak Uhura cleared her throat.

 

“Captain, planetary scans show that  both amplitude and frequency modulation being used. I think I can pick up something visual. It's a news broadcast using a system I think they once called ... video.”

 

“I believe, Lieutenant, that television was the more widely-used, colloquial term.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Jim saw Chekov and Sulu meet each other’s gazes out of the corner of his eye and wanted to sigh. He knew that the two of them had worked out all their issues, but that didn’t stop his crew from gossiping every time either Uhura or Spock spoke, reading whole volumes of drama in one bob of a ponytail or a twitch of an eyebrow. Jim was not exactly a stranger to the speculation drawn from every single expression on one’s face, but he heartily wished people on his own damn ship would mind their business.  

 

From working with her so closely, Jim knew that the tightness in Uhura’s voice was from exhaustion, but it was obvious that the two other senior officers thought it was just her being snippy. Jim made a mental note to send another memo on the professionalism of inter-officer relations, wondering if he could do it without being obvious about who he was talking about.  Maybe he could have Carol look it over for him. She was better at the warm and fuzzy frufru shit than he was.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant, Commander. Put it on screen.”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

There was the sound of frequency feedback, and Jim tried not to wince as Uhura quickly adjusted the controls. The image was in greyscale. Jim’s mom used to watch ancient holos that were shot in black and white, and this was very much like that.  It looked to be a newscast of some sort, showing men in primitive riot gear turning on a group of people. The screams of the crowd were muffled in the news coverage. Instead, there was a smooth voice-over of a male narrator. “Today police rounded up still another group of dissidents. Authorities are as yet unable to explain these fresh outbreaks of treasonable disobedience by well-treated, well-protected, intelligent slaves. Now turning to the world of sports and bringing you the taped results of the arena games last night.” The cast switched to two men fighting with swords, faces pockmarked and marred with old battles. “The first heat involved amateurs. They're petty thieves from City Prison. Conducted, however, with traditional weapons, it provided some amusement for a few moments. In the second heat, a slightly more professional display in the spirit of our splendid past, when gladiator Claudius Marcus killed the last of the barbarians, William B. Harrison, in an excellent example of---”  The image went fuzzy, then broke off as Uhura lost the transmission.

 

“Shall I try to get it back, Sir?”

 

“No- I think we saw enough. Slaves and gladiators. 20th- Century Rome, right?” It was odd that the planet’s culture had seemed to transplant itself right onto another planet, but the phenomena had happened enough that Jim could almost write it off as normal.

 

Jim registered the _swoosh_ of the lift doors just as Bones cleared his throat. “What the hell, Jimmy? You want some popcorn?”

 

“Bones!” Jim grinned as he slapped him on the shoulder, mostly because he knew Bones was too much of a stubborn ass to acknowledge that it hurt like fuck.

 

Bones scowled. “Infant. You beamin’ down then? Let me guess. Landing party of one, phasers blasing?” Jim snorted and Bones couldn’t keep up the scowl for too long before his face relaxed into the same helpless, annoyed affection that Jim tended to think of as ‘his’ look.

 

Spock didn’t clear his throat, instead shifting just slightly enough that the movement registered in Jim’s peripheral vision. “Captain, the one described as the barbarian is also listed here. Flight officer William B. Harrison of the SS Beagle. Evidence suggests that there were some survivors down on the planet.”

 

Jim turned to Spock. “ _Are_ survivors on the planet, Mister Spock.”

 

Spock allowed himself one long blink. “Sir, there is no evidence that--”

 

Jim jerked his chin up, staring into Spock’s brown eyes for a beat. “Until we confirm otherwise, we’re on a search and rescue mission.”

 

“If you think your fool-ass is going without me then you’ve got another damn thing coming.” Bones planted his feet, shifting his weight in front of Jim, his scowl darkening.

 

“Aw. You think I’m gonna take this without my best friend?” Not a chance! I need someone to save my ass. Spock you can---”

 

“I will be beaming down with you and the doctor.”

 

Jim blinked. Tried to tell himself that his stomach wasn’t jumping around like a girl who’d just been asked to prom. Failed.

 

“Sure. Wouldn’t be a party without you, Spock. Kirk to Mister Scott.”  

 

There was a loud clang and a muffled boom that the bridge crew carefully ignored. Eventually the muffled “Aye, sir?” over the sound of coughing made Jim have to bite the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t grin. He didn’t even bother to try to meet Bones’ gaze, the fucker. Or they’d _both_ be rolling around the damn floor.

 

“Scotty, tell me you’re not breaking my girl.”

 

“Err. _Technically,_ she’s nae broken, sir. Just a wee bit... rearranged. Temporarily o’course.”

 

Jim wasn’t even going to ask. “...Right. Well you’re needed here. Ready the transporter beam, Spock. We’re beaming down. Mr. Scott,  you’ve got the bridge.”

 

*****

******

 

Jim was such a old hat at having his molecules half scrambled that he didn’t even bat an eye as he, Spock and Bones appeared on the planet’s surface. He looked around, hand lazily on his phaser. The air had a faint odor of sage, but was otherwise unremarkable. Jim could have been just about anywhere in low hill country. The sky was an almost painful blue, the sun’s beams highlighting the numerous rocks and small patches of grass on the hillside.

 

Jim sighed. “Jeez, Spock. Did you beam us far enough out? I thought we were supposed to be looking for signs of life, not endless stretches of unpopulated wasteland.”

 

Spock’s jaw tightened, as it often did when Jim found fault with something he did. It kind of bothered Jim that it only happened with him; that Spock kept his face carefully blank whenever anyone else questioned one of his decisions. He raised his tricorder, scanning for a moment, the  two flicks of his wrist clearly broadcasting what he thought of Jim’s comment.  “While this area is certainly unpopulated, we are not all that far from the planet’s emergence of civilization.”

 

Bones gave Jim a weird look and Jim found himself feeling like even more of an idiot. He had to have said something seriously wrong to Spock if _Bones_ was calling him on his bullshit. Fuck. Fuck! He had to get this shit under control. It wasn’t fair to Spock.  Jim followed Spock down the steep slope, Bones walking slightly behind him.

 

“Fascinating. This atmosphere is remarkably similar to your twentieth century. Moderately industrialised pollution containing substantial amounts of carbon monoxide and partially consumed hydrocarbons.” Spock walked nimbly down the hillside, acknowledging Jim and Bones’ slightly less than graceful scramble behind him with a slight quirk of his eyebrow.

Bones sucked his teeth. “Smog, Spock. The word was smog.” Jim stumbled on a loose rock and tripped into Bones, who caught him with a muffled _‘unf’_ and a positively filthy look.

 

If it was anyone else, Jim would swear that Spock took the last few steps onto the flat surface almost smugly, with a little skip to his movements as though he were shouting ‘ha, watch _this_  you foolish humans and your less than adequate physiology.’ “Yes, I believe that was the term. I had no idea you were that much of a historian, Doctor.” Spock wasn’t even out of breath.

 

Bones grunted. “I’m not, Spock. I was simply trying to stop you from giving us a whole lecture on the  goddamn subject. Jim, is there anything at all we know about this planet?”

 

Jim looked up from where he’d been carefully putting one foot in front of the other. “The SS Beagle was the first ship to make a survey of this star sector when it disappeared.

 

Spock’s tricorder beeped, and Spock gave it a sharp look, as though it had surprised him. “Then the Prime Directive is in full force, Captain?”

 

Jim felt his entire face flush at the mention of the Prime Directive. He _totally_ needed that reminder, thanks.  He huffed an irritated breath. “No identification of self or mission. No interference with the social development of said planet.”

 

Bones chimed in with an almost sing-song voice, reciting with Jim. “No references to space, or the fact that there are other worlds, or more advanced civilisations... sing it with me, kids!”

 

Jim coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “fuck you” to his best friend. Bones just grinned beatifically at Jim, then cursed when he tripped over a hidden tree root. Spock’s hand whipped out to steady him almost before Bones’ gravity had shifted.

 

“Ya know, just once, I'd like to be able to land someplace and say, Behold, I am the Archangel Gabriel.”

 

Jim scoffed. “Oh come on, Bones. These people wouldn’t know the Archangel Gabriel from Khan.”

 

Bones made a strange sound- something between a snort and all of his internal organs collapsing at once.

 

“What. Too soon?”  It was Jim’s turn for the cheesy grin in Bones’ direction. “Oh come on, that was funny! You almost laughed.”

 

“ I fail to see the humour in that situation, Doctor.” Spock ignored Jim’s comment, as he tended to do whenever Khan’s name was mentioned. Spock had never told Jim how he’d managed to bring Khan into custody, and Nyota very carefully changed the subject whenever Jim asked her, but it wasn’t hard to infer that Spock _really_ didn’t like that guy.

 

Bones went along with it, jumping the last step so that he was even with Spock on the flat part of the land. “Naturally. You could hardly claim to be an angel with those pointy ears, Mister Spock. But say you landed someplace with a pitchfo--- _shit!_ ”

 

The gunshot rang out, echoing through the silent hills so loudly that birds took to the sky, attempting to escape. Jim rolled the last few feet, flopping rather ungracefully on the ground as Spock and Bones immediately sent their attention to the right and left, looking for the shooter.

 

“Do not move!”

 

“Interesting. The language here is--”

 

“Yes, English, gold star you damn pointy-eared...”

 

“Guys. Is this really the time?”  Jim tried to casually reach for his phaser only to hear another gunshot.  It was so close to his foot that it scraped the very edge of his ‘Fleet boots.

 

“In the name of the First Citizen, throw down your weapons!”

 

Shit. Shit, balls, _fuck_. He was never going to hear the end of this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BECAUSE THEY CANNOT KEEP A FUCKING TIMELINE THE WAY RODDENBERRY INVENTED THE FUCKING THING** (because fuck leap years and the fact that Vulcans pretty much made the Federation; we’ll go with Earth years.)*grumble* I did my best with the timing. So.
> 
>  
> 
> **~~Half-assed~~ ** **Abrams/Orci timeline:**
> 
> 2009 movie- 2258.42:  11 February, 2258
> 
> 2012 movie- 2259.59:  28 February, 2259
> 
> 2012 movie where Kirk gives funeral speech 2260.91:  1 April, 2059 (idk I just picked a nice day to have a funeral.)
> 
> 2012 movie-  2260.170: 19, July 2260 starts 5 year mission. (gold star if you can tell me the significance of the date. :D)
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick things.
> 
> 1- THANK YOU to Foxyk from the k/s archive for taking the time to beta, offer suggestions, whip commas into shape, etc. Mistakes are mine. :D As always, jlm121- thank you for the everything, bb. Love you! 
> 
> 2- Still mind the warnings. Have quite a bit of angst coming up in the next chapter. 
> 
> The last is not a thing as much as it's a shameless apology. I know that I write slowly. SLOWLY, slowly. Slower than a constipated snail, slowly. S-L-O-W. This isn't abandoned by any stretch of the imagination, so you might want to subscribe if you haven't done so already. 
> 
> Some of the angst in subsequent chapters sent me briefly playing in the fluffy k/s advent sandbox, but I'm back now and emotionally ready to enjoy my flangst---- the other _other_ white meat.

Warnings for this chapter: more violence, angst, and shoddy attempts at trek technology.

**\- part 3-**

Spock, were he one to subscribe to the frailty of human emotions, would readily admit that he should have anticipated the probability that this particular away mission would go, as Jim would say, ‘tits up’ in such a short timeframe.

He walked calmly with his flank of guards. He knew that he could easily break their hold, but as two of them currently held rudimentary weapons level with Jim’s head, Spock did not feel that would be the wisest course of action at this time. It was a bit problematic that they were still in their Starfleet uniforms (the three of them had been too focused on their witty repartee to follow Starfleet procedure, a fact that Spock _would_ be addressing at the next staff meeting) and Spock had not taken the chance to cover his ears from the beings’ scrutiny, but none of their guard seemed overly concerned with their charges. If anything, it was quite evident that they expected them to walk placidly to their vehicles.

“Barbarians!” The cock of the weapon echoed through the countryside. “They will be pleased that we have caught three fleeing fish in our nets.”

“Where are you taking us?” Jim’s voice was friendly, unconcerned as though he did not notice the weapons trained on his person.

“Silence, slave! You will be taken before the First Citizen for the crime of trespassing!”

“And of impersonating a Citizen.” A burly man towards the back of the part spoke up with a deep, rolling baritone. “I do not know where slime such as yourselves received such fine apparel. Stole it most likely.”

Spock found himself in the frustrating position of being unable to defend themselves without  breaking the Prime Directive.

They were marched to a waiting transport vehicle. Oddly enough, the vehicle looked to belong to something right out of early Earth history- 1970 to be precise.  

Spock’s mother had a fondness for holovids from around that time, and while every memory of his mother was precious to him, Spock readily admitted to himself that he would have been just fine (in all its variable definitions) not ever watching those particular films-or his mother’s even more disturbing penchant for acting out key plot points- ever again (While his research did find disturbing similarities on the inherent racial bias present in the colloquially termed ‘Blaxploitation’ films of that time and current xenophobic off-world political propaganda,  the expression on Admiral Pike’s face when he rose to defend his thesis was still one of Spock’s favorite memories.)  Still, he could recognize the general make and model of the vehicle, and found them to be disturbingly similar to the 1970 Plymouth Barracuda.

They were quickly put into meticuffs and shoved into the vehicle. The door closest to the back of the vehicle swung open, and he and Leonard were able to squeeze in with one of their guards while the rest of the guards and Jim rode in the other vehicle behind them.  The set-up suggested that the guards had not anticipated finding the three of them during their rounds.  Spock definitely did not approve of having Jim out of his sight for so long, but when he tried to turn to observe, he was nudged rather forcefully with the tip of the guard’s gun.

Still, he could observe his surroundings. The highway system and traffic patterns on the roads were indicative of a fairly large metropolis, although they could not see the signs of such yet. The vehicle drove into a tunnel, and when they emerged, they did so in a suburban area. It grew steadily more and more urban as they got closer to the city center. Leonard nudged him when they drove by the elaborate coliseum, modeled almost perfectly after early Terran Greek architecture.

There were more opulent living areas- dotted with various shops- the closer they drove to the center of the city.

Leonard grunted under his breath, and Spock raised his eyebrow at the palace in front of them. It was a quagmire of anachronisms: early Greco-Roman columns, mixed with Romanesque barrel vaults and pre- Eugenics War Expressionist arches. It was as though several architectural styles had been fit together like a pieces of a puzzle. Spock was quite curious to find out the origins of this planet’s original space settlers, and made a mental note to do so when time permitted.

“Fascinating.”

Leonard rolled his eyes as the vehicle stopped in a small, poorly-lit area. They were removed from their transport none too gently; Leonard made predictable endeavors to express his displeasure and was quickly brought to heel, not unlike a particularly grouchy bulldog.  Spock turned to meet Jim’s eyes once, before they were led away from one another, down opposite corridors. Spock was surprised at the pang he felt in his gut at watching Jim’s blonde head walking away from him.

The wooden door had just shut when Spock heard Jim’s voice raised, expressing clear overtones of frustration and anger.

“Oh hell,” muttered Leonard.

Spock was wont to agree.

There was a bang, and Spock tensed as he met Leonard’s eyes  with his own. Spock was almost unsurprised to see Jim pushed through the door, lip already swelling as he licked at the split, his facial muscles arranged in what looked to be a wry smirk of amusement at his own actions.

“Are you well, Capt-”

“Silence!”

The guard behind Jim struck him once with the butt of his weapon, and Jim winced at the solid-sounding _thunk_ that accompanied it. Spock found that he was decidedly less than pleased for the existence of this species of humanoid, regardless of what curious aphorisms they presented. Leonard often called Jim “hard-headed,” but Spock knew that Jim’s head was as fragile as the rest of his species, and he quite fervently desired that fewer objects came in contact with it. Beginning immediately.

They were brought to what was obviously a prison cell.

“Are there no trials before imprisonment?” Spock spoke, taking care to keep his diction precise.

The stocky guard from before snorted and jerked his chin up at the crude cameras in the ceiling. This too seemed to be from early twentieth century Earth. Most puzzling.  “The First sees everything. Had he wanted to interfere, he would have.”

Spock could not help but notice that one set of guards had stopped to usher him and Leonard into one cell, already occupied, while the other guards had frogmarched Jim down another hallway, disappearing through another solid door. The pang from before twisted unpleasantly again in Spock’s gut.

Leonard grunted as he was pushed none-too carefully into the room. Spock avoided the touch of the guards by the simple expedient of willingly moving forward. Best for him to be seen as the more cooperative of the two of them; perhaps his questions would be answered.

Spock’s gaze jumped quickly to the other occupant of the cell. He was quite elderly, and dressed in a tattered loincloth that barely preserved his modesty. He was huddled on a stone bench in misery, so focused on his obvious pain that he did not notice the two interlopers in his cell.

Leonard made a rough sound and crossed to the broken man. “My god, man! How can you leave this man like this? Look at his arm! His _leg_!”

The clang of the door echoed loudly through the hallway. The guard snorted. “Him? He’s arena-bait. Same as you two. Don’t waste your sympathy on him, slave. He is only here because he was willing to slaughter his entire family to pay off his debts.”

Several emotions flickered quickly over Leonard’s expressive face, but he still crouched to administer what aid he could. Spock could hear that the man had several broken ribs, and what sounded like a punctured lung, given the particular wheeze that came from his throat as his body refused to stop breathing. He had no doubt that Leonard had already diagnosed this. Spock found that he did not care to witness Leonard’s practicing of his craft. Instead he whirled on one heel, crossing to the bars of their cage.  The doctor would tell him if he were needed.

It was an alloy with which Spock was not familiar. The bars did not bend to his superior strength. Curious. He crossed to the other side of the cage, inspecting each bar for weaknesses and other imperfections in the construction.

He refused to acknowledge the growing sense of unease he felt, or the fact that his inspection of the cell was a shoddy attempt to cover up his own nervous pacing.

*****

The “slave” died fourteen hours later.

It was excruciatingly painful for the man, and it only took one brief glance at Leonard’s empathetic eyes before Spock found himself rising and crossing to the dying man, easing his pain as much as he could. It reminded him forcibly of his last meld with Admiral Pike, and left his mind brackish and stained with unpalatable emotion.  

Flashes of a man dressed in Imperial purple; Spock recognized him from his Starfleet records. Merik. Flashes of flesh tearing, of sweat and an almost palpable sense of constant terror and fear. Such mental agony that Spock had to reinforce his own shields, lest he become too entwined with the dying man’s strangely sticky mind. He saw that his initial observations had been correct. The beings on this planet were a warlike, brutal race, who fought each other to the death in order to eke out some semblance of survival. A slave might eventually earn his way up to a more balanced state, but to do so, they were forced to commit untold atrocities in the arena.

Leonard shut the man’s eyes and stood up with an explosion of movement, furiously muttering under his breath as he too paced around the cell. Spock removed his hand from the man’s face, absently shaking out his hand which felt cold and alien.

“Shit! We need to be working on a way to get _out_ of here, before _that_ is one of _us_!” Leonard’s words were cold, but Spock was familiar enough with the good doctor to know that masking one, stronger emotion with another was just his way, regardless of how incongruous it often was.  Spock had only to remember Leonard’s tireless actions in researching the genetic makeup of Khan’s blood as it rebuilt Jim’s own body to know that, despite how confusing it could be.

“What would you suggest?”

Leonard flung out a hand, furious. “I don’t have a damn idea! Aren’t you worried about Jim at all, you emotionless damn hobgoblin? I thought he was your friend!”

 _Friend_ was such a crushingly simplistic phrase, yet it did not come close to describing the maelstrom of emotions Spock encountered when faced with even a hint of an existence without Jim Kirk.

A footstep halted Spock’s response in his throat.

“Move so that we can secure your hands.” The guards held up another set of meticuffs, and Leonard snarled under his breath, turning around with his hazel eyes blazing at Spock.  Leonard was secured by the guard who reached through the bars, securing the cuffs and stepping back.  “Now you, pointy.”

Spock managed not to roll his eyes, but only just. He fervently desired that they exit this cage immediately in order to ascertain JIm’s whereabouts. He had no interest in resisting the guard’s directive when it gained him what he wished.  He noticed that Leonard was staring at the dead slave, quite obviously biting the inside of his cheek so as to not let the no doubt viscous flow of words escape from his throat.

Spock purposely brushed against Leonard’s hip as they were ordered out of the cage, and would have smirked at the shocked look on the doctor’s face in less dire circumstances. They were led to an elevator that operated with an ancient key pad. When the doors opened, it was immediately obvious that they were no longer on the prison levels. Opulence replaced the stark, utilitarian presence of the slave pens.

“Hello, Commander. Doctor.”

“Captain Merik.”

Leonard froze at the sight that greeted him, and had Spock not had all the training instilled upon him since before adolescence, he too would have betrayed the shock that swam unpleasantly through his veins. His heart beat in his side so quickly that it put him in mind of a small, cruelly trapped creature trying to break free from its prison. It was not an unapt metaphor for their current situation.

Jim was there, kneeling and bound at the Captain’s feet. He was gagged, and Spock could see several contusions on the side of Jim’s mouth that proclaimed how tightly he was gagged. There was a wicked-looking cut over one eye that bled sluggishly, snaking down the tip of Jim’s nose to stain the filthy fabric.

Even more alarmingly, Jim was dressed in the vestments that signified the status of a slave.  Several more contusions on his back and legs showed that Jim had not gone quietly.

“I see that circumstances have treated you most beneficially,” Spock spoke calmly, his voice tightly controlled. Indeed. Merik  had lost the thinly pinched, overworked look he carried from his service file. In the short time that Merik had been on this planet, his appearance had changed dramatically. Leonard made a small sound at Spock’s distant tone.

Merik causally lay his hand on Jim’s head,  tangling his fingers through Jim’s blonde curls as though he were some sort of pet. Merik’s eyes flashed in gloating triumph, although his expression remained bored as he quite obviously attempted to garner an emotional response from either Leonard or himself.

Spock had often heard the colloquialism ‘seeing red’ in his research, but it was not until just that instant that Spock fully understood what it meant. Leonard moved forward, trodding on Spock’s boot with a deliberate step. The brief flare of pain brought Spock back to himself, and the fact that Merik had witnessed his loss of control caused Spock to clench his fists, unseen behind his back.

“So! Imagine my surprise to find my old academy buddy, Jimmy Kirk himself escorted into my prison ward.”

Jim allowed Merik’s touch, although his blue eyes burned with an intense anger before he stared at the floor. The meekness was utterly unexpected, and Spock found himself calculating the probability of seven different possibilities  that would cause Jim to act so out of character.

None of them calmed his rising agitation. Spock forced himself to remain outwardly calm.  “Indeed.”

Leonard obviously felt no such compulsion. “You gonna fill us in? Why are we here?”

“Well, for entertainment, obviously! It’s the duty of a ruler to keep his followers happy, is it not? What could be more entertaining than three comrades forced to fight to the death?”

There was a small commotion at the door. An older man entered the room, grinning and clapping his hands together. “It is set. These two will fight first, with the winner to fight the pretty one. Ratings will soar, _soar_ I tell you!”

Jim reacted at that, springing up from his kneeling position, exploding upwards in a twist of muscle and sinew that was shocking in its abruptness. His head slammed back, connecting almost perfectly with Merik’s nose. Blood fountained out, a bright burst of red on Merik’s otherwise pristine robe. Jim’s legs were not secured, and he was able to kick back, connecting with the rotund man’s knee. He fell with a hoarse scream.  Spock was only able to get two steps towards Jim before Merik shot Jim with one of the weapons.  It was projectile in nature, and while it left only a small hole in his thigh, the exit wound caused Jim’s leg to collapse under him.

Spock stopped so quickly every muscle in his body seized painfully. The weapon was not large, but Merik had shown his willingness to hurt Jim almost as an afterthought. Spock pulled helplessly at the meticuffs, unable to find any leverage to free himself.

“I think not, Jimmy. See, the problem with you is that you’re so damn cocky that you always think you’re right. Just like at the academy. Now what you’ve failed to realize is that I’ve got quite a nice little set-up here. Slaves to my every whim. Riches. Power, Jim. I’m not some flunky ferrying rich dipshit dignitaries back and forth dirtside; I’m next in line for the _throne_.”

“You... killed your... crew.” Jim gasped, clutching his leg. Jim’s blood blossomed on the marble tile, spreading quickly across the room. Spock felt dizzy for a moment, his reaction out of proportion to Jim’s wound. He could not free himself. He could not save Jim. He was useless. An obsolete observer to Jim bleeding out in front of him.

“You’re goddamn right I killed my crew!”  Merik roared, blotting his own nose from where Jim had broken it. “They were useless. Pathetic. They had their chance to fight for their lives, and were too cowardly to do it right.”  Merik stood, jerking his head at the guards, who quickly took charge of Jim, securing him in meticuffs on both his wrists and ankles.

Jim’s muffled grunt of pain seemed inordinately loud to Spock’s ears.

“Now.” Merik’s voice changed to utterly calm. “I’m adaptable. Jim, you don’t want your beloved crew to fight, well, I can be altruistic. Doctor. Come here.”

Leonard jumped. It took him several moments to drag his eyes from Jim’s bloody form. “Yeah, I’ve seen your hospitality. Really rather not if it’s all the same.” He nodded to the guard, who quickly moved to uncuff and re-secure Leonard's meticuffs in front of him so  that he had the use of his hands.

“Oh, I think you’ll change your mind.” Merik’s smile was shark-like. He put the weapon to Jim’s temple, and Spock knew that he didn’t imagine the small gasp of air that escaped Leonard’s lips. Leonard had moved almost before Merik’s smile had finished.

Jim refused to be subservient- holding himself stubbornly upright.  His chin jerked up and Spock felt the intensity of his blue eyes like a slap to the face. Jim jerked his gaze back down to the floor, but not before Spock saw the brief flash of panic there.

“Come here. Now. See, I was keeping this for a rainy day. An escape clause of sorts. Oh come now, you guys are all going to recognize it...”  Merik trailed off, gesturing with the weapon towards a plain wooden box.  “Open it, please.”

Leonard did and hissed a shocked breath. He lifted it, meeting Spock’s eyes briefly before staring down at the familiar device with an expression very much like horror. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“A transwarp device.”

“See? Vulcans really are the smartest kids in the class. And I’m not heartless, see? As soon as I saw your pointy little ears I had thought about getting you off my planet. Not for me to make your race extinct by one more, is it?”

Spock forced himself not to react. It was more difficult than anticipated. His mind was racing ahead, coming to a conclusion that he was certain he would not care for.

“And the beauty of it is, you can’t come back!” Merik grinned again, lazily swinging the weapon back to Jim’s head. “You and that pesky Prime Directive. ‘Course it’s gonna be your problem to explain to Pike why you let his boy get killed on television, but that’s why your pay grade is above mine, eh?”  Merik’s laugh was cruel. “Oh. I forgot. Guess it’s not really Pike’s problem anymore, is it?”

Spock heard the meticuff he was wearing groan with strain. Jim would not meet his gaze.  Leonard’s own hazel eyes jerked from Jim’s face to Spock’s, before settling on the weapon trained at his friend’s temple.

“Yeah. Tell them the coordinates, Jimmy. They’ll be safe, you’ll get to show off in the arena... seems like a win for everyone.”

Jim gave the coordinates in a low voice, tight with some emotion that Spock was not well versed enough to identify.

“Enter them, Doc. You and your green buddy there will be free to ... do whatever it is you do. Don’t worry about Jimmy, here. He’ll be just fine.” Merik jerked Jim’s head up by his hair so that he met Spock’s eyes. Spock flinched, stepping forward. Merik was correct. The Prime Directive was clear. Once they left this planet’s surface, they would not be able to return. Spock found himself unprepared to hypothesize how he would return Jim to him... to his _ship._ It was as though the quicksilver processes of his mind were wrapped in thick wool.

Jim’s lips quirked wryly. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. Spock knew his duty. He was just not entirely sure that he could follow what was expected of him in this instance.

Leonard’s voice was gruff. “Spock.”

Merik smirked. “ _Spock_ ,” he mocked.

But it was Jim’s voice that spurred him into a burst of movement. Just one syllable, no less insistent for its softness, yet it had Spock moving towards Leonard with a jerky, uncoordinated movement as though his mind and his body were fighting one another at just the sound of his name.

Leonard gripped his arm and Spock felt the pull of the transwarp device.  The last thing he saw was the slight tremble of Jim’s lips,  his brave face collapsing as he watched his two best friends abandon him to Merik’s mercy.

  
  
  
________

to be continued.... (I promise!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst, still a tiny bit more of suspension of disbelief for my Trek ‘science’, Scotty’s accent, and .. yeah. Latin comes from 12 years of Harry Potter fandom and Google. I meant it about the warnings in previous chapters.

 

**-Part 4-**

 

There were exactly four-point-five seconds of stunned, shocked inactivity on the bridge of the Enterprise before Spock _exploded_ into action.  All of them had seen the portable transporter in use. There was no logical explanation for the way they all just sat there, like shocked little _aylaks._ He ignored the crew’s gaping mouths and spoke, his voice clear and concise.

“Spock to Lieutenant Hendorff.” He ignored the way his stomach clenched as the memory of Jim’s moniker of ‘Cupcake’ floated to the forefront of his consciousness.

“Comman--?”

“Report immediately to the Bridge. Spock out.” Spock’s words almost flew over themselves in their haste to escape. “Commander Scott, ready an away team for an expeditious extraction of the Captain. He is currently being held hostage on that planet, and requires direct retrieval.”

Scott barely had time to turn in the chair before Spock was walking quickly across the floor to Uhura’s station. The man, clearly flummoxed, raised his hand to stop Spock’s movement.

Spock found that he had no patience for these humans and their tedious verbal platitudes. The last visual of Jim’s face swam unpleasantly in his mind, and Spock found himself feeling a certain measure of disquiet as the image refused to exit his eidetic memory.

Jim had looked... lost somehow. Spock  gave his head a small shake. He had no time for such sentiment.

“Spock...”

“Lieutenant, establish a secure communication with the planet’s....”

“Spock!”

Spock did not even acknowledge the awkwardness of standing on the Bridge, giving orders with his hands still secured behind his back. He felt impatience thrumming under his skin with how intolerably _slowly_ everyone was moving. Did they not understand the urgency with which they must perform? Jim had once again acted in haste; refusing to heed Starfleet protocol when he deemed that Spock and Leonard were in danger. A sacrifice. The fatted calf.  He tugged again on the meticuffs with his own impatience, ready to lean over Uhura’s station and make the modifications himself when he realized that Scott was still speaking.

“---interference. I’m afraid, sir, that....”

“Stop.” Spock attempted to go back through his memory to recall what the Lieutenant Commander had just said, but he could not access it. His own mind was in such a turmoil, he could not seem to retrieve the information, although from the way Leonard’s shoulders had snapped to attention, Spock quickly inferred that he would not care for what the Chief Engineer had to say.

Scott took a fortifying breath. “Commander, I’m sorry to tell ye, but tha’ is nae possible. The interference that caused the Beagle’s hull damage is linked t’ the planet’s rotation--”

Spock blinked, a terrible suspicion causing his own heart rate to increase.  His extremities felt hot, then cold as the arrhythmia disrupted his body’s normal patterns.  It took him an inordinate  length of time to right his body’s malfunction.

“It’s nae the Prime Directive, sir. It’s the bloody _moons_. Each of the planet’s moons have a natural ionic barri ... “ Scott stopped, frowning. “ It’s that we _canne_ get close enough to the planet for our transporters to work, not without scrambling this Lady’s atoms to kingdom come. Yet.” Scott jerked his chin up. “I have nae doubt tha’ I c’n figure something out eventually, sir.”  

Spock actually felt light-headed for a moment.  When he spoke, his voice was not his own. “That is not possible.” A whisper. A breath of pure shock.

Leonard sucked in a sharp breath. “That son of a _bitch_! Spock! He knew. That bastard Merik _knew_ that we wouldn’t be able to come back. That’s why we were able to leave; why there was such a fuckin’ _show_ down there! God _damnit_!” Leonard whirled and kicked at the casing behind the Captain’s chair with such force that the sound echoed around the eerily silent Bridge.

There was the soft _woosh_ of the lift doors opening, and Hendorff stalked out, took in his two cuffed senior officers with a tilt of his head, and went for his phaser on his belt.  Spock was so stymied; running possibility after possibility over in his mind that he did not react to the heat of the phasers ray as it cut cleanly through the alloy of the meticuff, falling to the deck with a small _clank_.  Absently, Spock brought his hands to his front and rubbed his wrists, eyes flicking endlessly over the Bridge crew- Scott’s frown at having to impart such dire news, Nyota’s tear-bright eyes as she stared at him, throat working as she swallowed down her emotions, Sulu and Chekov staring at him with varying expressions of wariness, as though waiting for Spock to erupt into rage.

And oh, the rage was there. Boiling and swirling under his skin like metal pooling under the heat of a torch.

“How long is the cycle.” Spock’s voice was so low that Scott had to lean in slightly to hear it. Hendorff stepped back as unobtrusively as possible, keeping a clear and obvious eye on both Spock and Leonard.

“That’s the thing, sir. We just don’t know.”

******

Spock had not slept for over eighty-seven-point-two hours. Vulcans regulated all of their bodily functions with a near-perfect aptitude. Perhaps it was his mixed heritage, or the fact that he had become progressively more and more worried for Jim’s safety as the hours slowly passed, but Spock found himself unable to sleep.

He had forced Leonard to administer hypos of stimulants on two different occasions, and when the good doctor flatly refused a third, Spock had acquired and administered his own. Regardless of the technological advances available to them on Starfleet’s flagship; the geniuses that Jim had assigned to his ship, the crew that would do everything in their power for their captain... there were no options. The facts had not changed.

Merik had outplayed them at every turn.  It was clear now that he knew exactly how the odd little planet’s natural defenses worked. Perhaps he had known before the Beagle was destroyed; perhaps it was after. It did not matter.  There were no options left to them.

Spock forced himself to his feet, ignoring the weary drag of his muscles. He had no time for this. His body would adjust. He could sleep once he was certain that his captain was safe.  Spock crossed to the replicator and stood there, staring blankly at the keys, before turning and crossing back to his chair. His berth on the Enterprise had a small couch and chair, obviously meant for entertaining. Spock had never used it for this purpose, although Jim had sat here no less than thirty-three times going over ship’s business.

“Computer. Show model NC-01.”

“Acknowledged.”

The image was burned into his memory. The fairly innocuous-seeming class M planet, still unnamed except for its numerical designation,  surrounded by eleven moons of varying sizes and shapes. An oddity of moon rotation had four moons rotating in one direction, four moons rotating in the opposite direction, and three moons orbiting even more slowly, with an even more atypical pattern under the previous line. When viewing, Scott had scratched his head eyebrow and likened it to combination tumblers locking into place.

The atmosphere of the moons’ chemical compounds made up a natural barrier against planetary communications. The probes Spock had sent to investigate were destroyed when they got too close. The abundance of compounds, when mixed with the radiation inherent in the core of any sort of mechanical device, caused the device to be instantly obliterated. They knew that there was a small window of safety as the rotations of the moons lined up so that none of the caustic atmosphere reacted with any of the radiation.

Simple chance had their away team beaming down during this window. Scott’s report stated that all communications had ceased shortly after, only to come back slowly as the moons continued their rotation around the planet.  Ensign Chekov had noted that other signals would slowly appear as the various moons rotated, until they could read the entire planet’s communications. They would have twenty Earth minutes before their window was up.

Spock blinked, watching the 3D image continue to rotate. He was not sure what it was about the ancient television signal was strong enough to pierce the rather formidable planetary defenses, but he found himself impatient for any news. The rotund man had spoken excitedly of ratings, and Nyota assured him that given the other newscasts that she had been able to access, Jim’s battle would be televised.

His _battle_. After enduring... whatever Merik had done to him, Jim still had to battle to the death. Spock’s research into ancient Terran Roman culture added to his... disquiet. There was no guarantee that Jim would have only one opponent. Spock knew that Jim would struggle with the ethics of such a ritualized, senseless murder. Yet, if Merik orchestrated events to where there were several other opponents, Jim could easily be overpowered. Surely they would all band together against the interloper. The battle tactics of two-hundred and eighty-seven different warlike cultures all had that same similarity; a united front in the face of an unknown enemy- however brief that front might be.

And they would not know Jim’s fate for another.... forty-two minutes.

This was intolerable.

Spock stood and walked to the small window in his quarters, looking out into the black. Normally this had a calming effect. Now though, Spock found himself taking no comfort in the sight. Something was missing.

Some _one_ was missing, and Spock did not care for this... _sensation_... at all.

His door chimed.

“Enter.”

Nyota walked in, paused briefly as her calm gaze took in both the 3D model Spock had left up near the settee, then walked to stand beside Spock, shoulders very nearly brushing.

“You really need to sleep.”

“I am performing within acceptable parameters.” It took more control than Spock expected to keep his voice free of emotional inflection, but there was no being on this ship that knew him as well as the woman standing next to him.

Nyota’s unladylike snort was loud over the hum of the ship’s engines. “Bullshit.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that crap. I’m calling bullshit.” Spock was aware that proximity often changed speech patterns and colloquial norms. The crew had learned this when Chekov had spent several days with the Captain on an away mission and had come back swearing, as Leonard had said, ‘like a goddamn sailor’.  He raised an eyebrow towards Nytoa, choosing not to comment on this. “You’re exhausted, Spock. Leonard told me about the hypo. I don’t know what bit of Vulcan logic signed off on stealing stimulants. And you somehow missed the fact that Leonard watches his hypos closer than some people watch their children, so that there tells me that you’re not,” Nyota made air quotes. “operating within acceptable parameters”... Nyota trailed off, flipping her ponytail in a move that was at once so familiar that Spock felt his throat tighten.

She must have seen something on his face, because her whole posture softened. She took that last step closer, wrapping her small arms around his waist, and leaning her head against his chest.

Spock’s throat tightened even more as Nyota stood up on her toes to give him a quick brush of her lips against his cheek.  “You really need to rest.”

“I... cannot.”

She sighed. It was clear that she had not expected her directive to yield tangible results.

“You know it’s not going to be good. What we see, I mean.”

Spock nodded. Weariness pulled at his limbs. He found himself borrowing Nyota’s strength for a moment and was unable to summon the wherewithal to care.

“I came here for a couple things. First, you need to eat. You’re not going to be much use to anyone if you keel over. I may not be your girlfriend anymore, Spock,  but I do care for you.” She pulled away to look up at him. “And I’m not above bullying. Leonard said he has no problem declaring you medically unfit if you don’t take a break.”

Spock tensed. He stepped away from her, bringing his arms to their customary position of parade rest. Nyota’s whole visage had changed again, reminding him of a mother sehlat protecting her cubs. She poked Spock in the center of his chest.

“Do not doubt me for a second. Now you want me to stop nagging you? You’re gonna sit your bony butt down and eat something. Drink more than two sips of water. If you won’t sleep then you’re going to relax until we are scheduled to pick up that signal.” She crossed to the replicator and murmured something, turning and placing it on the table in front of the settee.

“Computer. Disengage model.”  She pointed at the seat he had recently vacated, narrowing her eyes.

It was not the first time Spock wished that Vulcans were predisposed to eye-rolling. Of the many human idiosyncrasies he was often bombarded with, that did seem the most useful at this present time. Instead he drew himself up to his full height and crossed to where she stood, her own eyebrow raised mockingly.

Spock sat and began eating rather mechanically. Once he started however, he found it difficult to keep his pace moderate. The simple soup and bread were quite flavorful, and Spock was rather more famished than he realized.  Spock found himself blinking rather myopically at his empty plate until Nytoa took pity on him and took it away.  Spock forced himself to drink the water slowly. His stomach felt uncomfortably full.

It was agonizing not to wonder what was being done to his capt-- No, to _Jim_ \- at this very instant. He did appreciate Nyota’s quiet presence near him as she sat curled up in the chair, the occasional nibbling on the end of her hair the only outward sign of her own nervousness. Spock enjoyed the brief respite of calm, feeling himself relax in minute increments for the first time in almost four days.

When his doors opened, Spock only had time for one shocked glance at Nyota before Leonard strode in with all the furious bearing of a horse leading the charge to battle.

There could only be one reason for Leonard’s unannounced presence here at this moment in time, and his next words confirmed it.

“Commander Spock, designation S 179-276 SP, you are hereby temporarily relieved of duty, Starfleet order 104 Section C.”

Spock jumped to his feet, adrenaline fueling the sudden and bright burst of fury.

Leonard didn’t react to his sudden movement, holding his gaze calmly. Spock could see the pulse in his temple throbbing and had a wholly illogical urge to strike it, to claw at it over and over until the steady pulse of life was an indeterminable bloody mass.  

It was that image that shocked Spock out of his rage. He actually took a step back,dropping his gaze, feeling his own heartrate spike making him dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Shit, Spock. I’m sorry to do this to ya, but you’re really giving me no choice here. You’re acting... irrational. Scotty has the conn, and there’s not a whole helluva lot you can accomplish here.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s temporary, Spock. Just.... just til’ we get him back. Can’t have the both of you doing something stupid.” Spock jerked away from Leonard’s hand as it reached out to clasp his shoulder and stumbled gracelessly against the corner of the table. Nyota’s shocked gasp was loud in the room.

Spock found himself overcome with conflicting emotions. He needed... he needed quiet. Calm. He could. It was not-- Spock brought his shaking hands around to the front of his body, staring blankly at the unmistakable proof of Leonard’s claim.

“Leave me.” He grit out between clenched teeth, his control a mere thread.

There was a choked sound from behind him and the subtle shift of air that told Spock that Nyota had done as he asked.

“Spock--” Leonard started and stopped, quite obviously trying to work out what to say. “I just--”

“Please.”  The whisper was the merest hint of sound.

The woosh of his doors, and the beep signifying Leonard’s locking them behind him were his only answer.

Spock forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths.  Regulating his breathing forced his frantic heart rate to slow. He became aware that there was an uncomfortably cold sweat down the line of his back.

Spock gripped the table, leaning his weight into the surface.  Control. He must... this was not...

Spock took one shaky breath, then another, purposefully feeling his lungs as they expanded, allowing his breath to huff out to send his bangs fluttering as he exhaled. He started at his feet, working his way up, purposefully tensing and relaxing his major muscle groups, forcing his adrenaline-fueled body to relax. It took him seventeen minutes to regain control over his traitorous body. He was not used to sweating, and likened it to cloying _lachas_ running under and over his skin.

Spock crossed to his wardrobe and took out one of his meditation robes. The fabrics were natural, and felt less prickly to his over-sensitized skin.  There was a faint scent of the incense that still smelled so strongly of home.

He knew that there was little point in attempting to meditate at this point. Spock did find himself wishing, just for a moment, that he could speak to his mother. She had been tremendously adept at ... well, she called it ‘translating emotion’. A much younger Spock would often find himself inventing reasons to be in his mother’s presence so that she could help him to understand some perplexing, illogical _feeling_ . Neither of them would openly acknowledge what was happening, but both knew exactly what the other was doing.

Thinking of his mother’s death was still painful, but if Spock concentrated, he could almost feel the touch of her cool, calming hand against his jaw.  

He spent several moments simply concentrating on his respiratory system. He could ignore his exhaustion for the moment. Spock knelt near his bed, bending slightly enough that he could rest his head against the mattress, ignoring the way his still-tense spine popped and cracked as he moved.

“McCoy to Spock.”

Spock tensed.  “Yes, doctor.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna be as non-invasive as possible. Your room is locked with my override, and I’ll be monitoring your life-signs, but other than that, you’re... are ya sure that y’want to do this by yourself, Spock? Uhura is gonna make sure you have a comm link to the broadcast.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Spock-- I...”

“I said Acknowledged, doctor. Spock out.”

The computer beeped once to signify the closed link, and again to signify that Leonard had locked the door. Some small part of his mind found satisfaction in the fact that Leonard was leaving him to his privacy as much as he was able.

There was another beep,the wall monitor showed some static before solidifying. There was the whine of feedback, then the roar of a crowd.

“---live to what is expected to be a _quite_ satisfying rout!”

“Yes, look there is the current favorite of the First... ÆMILIANUS!”

Spock tensed at the brutal looking human who stalked out into the center of the coliseum. He was easily close to seven feet tall. His muscles bunched and rippled under his skin as he raised his arms up, smirking at the screams and catcalls of the crowd. One hand held a mace. Spock only had a second to see how out of place it was before he noticed that the other hand held a sword that was easily as large as his leg.  

“ÆMILIANUS! _ÆMILIANUS!_ **_ÆMILIANUS!_** ”

“Winner of thirty-eight challenges, Æmillanus looks to be ready for his thirty-ninth! His challenger is the slave, Bor.”

The announcer snorted. “Doesn’t look like much of a fight. Still, a lesson to be learned. Stealing anything from your betters, even something such as a crust of bread will get you one thing and one thing only.”

Indeed, the small boy was almost emaciated, frozen in fear at the sound of the crowd. He couldn’t be more than nine years of Terran age. The camera zoomed in to show his large, tear-filled eyes, then panned back to show how the boy clutched a small wooden practice blade.

Æmillanus crouched down, whirling to face his opponent. The crowd roared its approval when he snapped and barked like a large canine, moving forward to stalk his prey.

The boy was too terrified to move, and the small, wet stain of urine sounded loud as it pattered on the packed dirt floor.

The brute tensed his muscles, ready to pounce. Before he could a voice rang out, a note of command so familiar to Spock that his hands fisted at his sides without him being aware of it.

“I will fight in his stead!”

There was a deafening silence of hundreds of thousands of voices stopped as one in complete shock.

Then the booing began.

Jim stumbled forward, favoring an ankle that was clearly fractured. He took the practice blade from the small boy and stood so that he was protectively in front of him. The boy fell back onto his backside, then scuttled back out of the way of the two men.

Spock wanted to freeze the image so that he could better take in each nuance of Jim, but felt that each contusion and bloodied mark was engraved on his his memory. He felt as though he had just emerged from  weeks of Vulcan’s desert heat, only to be offered the coolest, cleanest water with which to quench his thirst.  

Jim was squinting into the blazing sun with obvious signs of a concussion. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, and Jim had split his lip at one point. More worrisome (and Spock firmly refused his mind to dwell on the particulars of this) his knees were scraped and raw, with obvious, finger-shaped bruises ringing his neck like the most macabre jewelry.

Jim swayed a bit, flung his head back to get his sweaty hair out of his eyes and advanced.

The brute’s eyes narrowed as he feinted with the blade. Jim, no fool to hand-to-hand combat, quickly  began using his smaller stature to his benefit, maneuvering the bigger man so that the sun was directly in his eyes.

The crowd did not like this at all, and began throwing things at the two fighters in the pits. Spock watched with a strange sort of lassitude as Jim scurried to and fro, using everything from the rotten food to the sand they fought on as weapons, until the bigger man slipped, clawing the refuge out of his eyes.

Jim was on him in an instant.

He wrapped his legs around the man’s torso, tightening his arms around his neck from behind, using his own center of gravity to help strangle Æmillanus by throwing his weight back so that only his arms were clamped around the trunk-like neck, contorting his body into a ‘C’ shape. The crowd gasped as Jim’s toes scrambled against the broad expanse of the larger man’s back, digging in for purchase as Jim used his strength to cut off his air.

Spock heard himself make a small, negative sound as the boy, perhaps finding courage in Jim’s foolishly brave actions leaped on the man’s side, kicking and clawing at the tender flesh stretched over the side of his rib cage.  Out of weapons, the boy bit at him, clawing at his bulging eyes with his tiny, underdeveloped hands.

Spock barely had time to tense before the inevitable happened.

Æmillanus, drawing some last remnants of strength despite the furious dark purple hue of his face, flung out one of his meaty arms. The boy flew through the air with a reedy cry, only to strike his head on the stone barrier near the slave entrance.  The wet,meaty sound drew Jim’s fevered attention, and Æmillanus was able to use the momentary lapse of concentration to throw back his head, then his body in a last, feeble attempt at fighting back by grinding Jim into the sun-baked floor of the ring. Spock heard Jim’s grunt of exertion, but his face was hidden from view until Æmillanus slumped,  his windpipe  crushed by Jim’s tenacity. Jim kicked him off with a gasp of air, holding onto his ribs as he slowly stood up, looking down at his opponent.  

There was a heartbeat of silence, then the fickle crowd began to chant their approval. The sound was the sinuous hiss of a million snakes. “ _Sss-sss-sss-ser_ **vus**!” “ _Sss-sss-sss-ser_ **vus**!” “ _Sss-sss-sss-ser_ **vus**!” It was eerie as the hiss grew to a din, crescendoed to a roar then became so deafening that the cameras used to televise the event shuddered under the impact of several hundred thousand pounding feet on the infrastructure, cheering for the slave that had bested their fallen champion.

Jim took strength from this, as he had always done from approval and took a staggering step back from Æmillanus, blinking up at the crowd as though confused. He took another step, then visibly seemed to gather himself and whirled to check on the boy, scooping up  Æmillanus’ sword as he did so.

It was very obvious that the pitiful creature was dead. Part of his skull had caved in, and at least a liter of blood had spread underneath his pallid body.  Jim still checked his pulse, and the camera panned in on the way he attempted to remain stoic, clenching his jaw so that he would not speak, yet utterly unable to keep the pain out of his eyes.  It caused Spock’s throat to tighten painfully. He had to force himself to breathe slowly in order to work through the sudden blockage. He was shocked at his own sudden, visceral pulse of _want_. He wanted _desperately_ to be there with Jim, to share this pain with him, to help relieve him of this burden that was so obviously hurting his heart.

Jim only allowed himself a brief moment before straightening his shoulders, visibly assuming the yoke of responsibility that he handled so well. There was only a minute twitch of Jim’s wrist before he moved- as though a spring had been suddenly and violently uncoiled. Spock heard himself make a small, hurt sound. It seemed loud in the quiet of his quarters, echoing around as Spock watched the sword spin through the air in a lazy, spiraling arc. He was dimly aware that he had jumped to his feet. The weapon had no chance of reaching its target, yet knowing that fact was somehow even more painful than observing it through the screen.

There was an almost comical-sounding _cloooong_! as the weapon hit the side of Merik’s box, the metal causing sparks on the stone, the butt of the sword actually striking the proconsul’s arm. There was a gasp of shock from the avid crowd, and Spock _loathed_ them in that moment, for their stupid, petty humanity. They had received their bread for this circus, and greedily cried for more.  

Jim stood tall and proud as Merik smirked down at him. His chin jutted out, stubborn defiance in every line of his body.  The camera panned away from Jim and showed several shots of the crowd’s complete shock. Striking the proconsul, aiming for one of the First citizens... they knew Jim’s life would be forfeit.

What they didn’t know, was how.

The camera panned slowly back, showing a still smirking Merik whispering into the proconsul’s ear. The other man looked almost bored. He nodded once, raised an eyebrow, and Spock went cold at the completely wicked grin that stole over his features.  The crowd held their breaths as one, watching solemnly as Merik raised his fist in the air.

Merik obviously loved having the crowd’s attention. He held the pose for several heartbeats before bringing his fist down in one abrupt movement, turning it downwards so that his thumb was pointed to the ground.

Spock felt a jab in his neck and all at once became fully aware of his surroundings, as though his sight and hearing focused with perfect precision at the same time like a bone being popped back into its proper place. He had been so intent on the drama unfolding from the planet that even his superior senses had not realized that Leonard had come into his room and gotten close enough to administer a hypo to his neck.

Spock had one heartbeat of pure and utter fury before the drugs took effect, forcing his body into the sleep it so desperately needed.  Leonard caught him and eased him down onto the settee, his face pinched with worry that even Spock had no trouble reading. When the doctor spoke, the sound was distorted, as though he was speaking in an odd octave down a long tunnel.  Useless, pithy words. Spock did not much care. He should have realized that Leonard had left too quickly, that he would do something such as this to ensure Spock’s mental and physical health.  He kept his eyes on the screen, trying to fight the drugs in his system as he watched the guards capture a fiendishly fighting Jim. It took seven fully-armored men and still Jim fought.  He was barely aware of his own whisper of Jim’s name, or of the way his muscles tensed towards the screen, as though everything in his body was yearning to be near Jim.

Leonard noticed though. He shook his head and made sure that Spock was comfortable, watching as the blinks became longer and longer. The stubborn hobgoblin managed to hold onto consciousness three-point-six minutes longer than expected, given the dosage.

Before sleep claimed him, Spock was aware of only one thing: He would do everything in his power to bring Jim Kirk back to this ship, or die trying.

\---

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC !
> 
> Thank you for your patience with this story. I know it’s coming slowly, but we’re in the home stretch now!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Finally some comfort for all that hurt.

  


Jim is dreaming.

It doesn’t matter that his dreams have no possible chance of being real. He isn’t stupid. He knows where he is; knows that his body is baking under the uncaring sun on that fucking planet. He wants to be angry, but it’s too much effort to feel much of anything.  He really prefers this slow, dreamy sense of existing to the reality of his imminent death.  Surely that’s not too far away, right?  Hasn’t he been here long enough?

The dream shifts, turns dark and ugly with his failures. He sees the little boy trying to be brave, hears the sickening thud of his skull cracking over and over in an unforgiving loop that’s as loud as the frantic pace of his heartbeat. He sees the Admiral casually informing him that his crew won’t survive, and Jim is turning so slowly, so terribly slowly and forcing himself to meet his crew’s eyes as his throat tightens so much that he can barely offer his stunned apology, to acknowledge that there is nothing he can do about their death. That one split second of indecision before he shut himself in the radiation chamber, knowing that he was completely fucked. That feeling of  _wrongness_  as his very cells begin to shut down. He’s dead, he’s going to die  _alone_ , and he doesn’t know if it  _worked,_  if he threw it all away for nothing but then Spock is there, crying and oh.

( No. No...jesus _fuck_  he can’t...)

He has the sense that he made some sound. His throat is agony, and it seems absolutely ludicrous that this is what sticks out as painful; that somehow  _this_  hurts more than anything else that’s wrong with him.

There’s a slight touch against his cheek, and Jim smiles in the dream. He’s surrounded in a scent that he never fails to recognize. It smells like the desert’s sun-scorched spices.  

Spock’s hair smells like that. His skin. Something that tells him  _Spock_.

Thats weird. Why would he be dreaming of Spock’s hair? Even more importantly, why would a dream that still had his body covered in a cold sweat end in the comforting sense of Spock’s presence?

It was even _weirder_  that he recognized this feeling, this total absorption of scent and comfort.  Had he had this dream before?

(He’d remember it, wouldn’t he?)

The dream shifts again, becoming less tangible and more ephemeral. He’s hurt, he’s screaming, he’s sorry, oh god how he’s sorry.

_You have nothing for which to apologize._

Well that was fucked up. Of course he did. If Bones had told him once, he’d told him a hundred times. ‘Some day, Jimmy, you’re going to get your foolass into something you can’t talk your way out of.’ Wasn’t that what he’d done? Hindsight was always 20/20; he  _could_  have made sure that the away team blended with the locals. He  _could_  have made sure that Spock wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Oh god, he’d been so pathetically pleased to spend a little time with the guy....

_If that is true, then you must come back._

Come back? Jim laughs, wincing when it sets off a scatter-burst of agony in his ribs, up through what feels like every muscle in his back, only to settle with a bright throb of anguish in his wrists and shoulders. His lungs burn now, and it’s so much harder to catch his breath. He can’t help the panic that swarms his gut. As much as he’s utterly exhausted, he doesn’t want to die without...

(Without telling...)

  1.  He can’t remember. The pain and the panic is brushed away with the stroke of one finger against his temple, pressing for a moment against his face. He feels the soft pads of two more fingers against his cheek and it’s weird enough to startle him out of his dreamthought. It’s frustrating, because Jim knows that he’s forgetting something. Something..... important.



You  _will rest, my T’hy’la._

But he’s afraid to sleep again. He doesn’t want to forget to wake up. He’d much rather stay here in his dreams. In his dreams he was...

he was (is)....

was (is?)...

                                                          (the touch again, god he could get used to that)

 _safe_ _._

*****

"Come on, kid. Wake up.  I know you can hear me."

Jim could  of course, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to.  This wasn't so bad- he was warm, he was comfortable... it was a marked improvement.

It was bugging him that he couldn't quite remember  _why_  feeling warm and comfortable was so strange.  

"Jimmy."

Jim frowns, wrinkles his nose and tentatively opens his eyes.

Boy, that was a mistake.

The light from the sickbay was like being inside of a supernova. He could feel each eyelash quivering with pain, each wrinkle in the thin skin of his eyelid as he squeezed his eyes shut. His breath left him on a pained moan.  His arms felt like there were muscles that didn't know how to work cohesively anymore. That one, small movement set of a cacophony of pain that ricocheted through his very bone marrow. His throat was too dry to work properly, but the rusty-sounding " _fuuuuuck_ " seemed inordinately loud to his overstimulated ears.

"Welcome back, kid." Bones' voice was diamond bright against the blue of his uniform.  The amount of relief in his voice made Jim blink again. He tried a cautious smile.

His lips felt like he had taken a phaser blast to his face. He barely had time to articulate his desperate need for water before Bones made a funny sort of grunt and leaned over, grabbing something that scraped against the surface of something hard to his right, than offering him a straw.

"Slowly now."

Jim thought he was taking slow enough sips, but Bones still frowned at him. Bones would probably frown down at him after Jim cured Klingon Shingles though, so it was hard to gauge whether he was doing it wrong.

Weirdly there was a sense of deja vu, that they had done this before.  It was so strong that Jim jerked his head to the other side. He had been so sure of what he was about to see that it was almost painful to realize that Spock wasn’t actually standing there.  He must have made some sound, because Bones was leaning over him again with a hypo.

“Aw, kid. No. Just a painkiller. Don’t want you to go to sleep if you can help it. It’s gonna make you feel a little floaty though, so tell me if it’s too much.”

There was the familiar hiss and a momentary sting of the medicine going through his veins, and Jim felt some of the pain bleeding away.  He could tell it was there, but it was out of the way enough that Jim could think. It felt like standing next to a dam that had a tiny trickle of water sliding down it’s surface; it was wet, you could tell it was there, but any more of a hole and the whole river would come crashing through.

“Report.”

“Uh yeah, no. You’re gonna have to answer some questions first.”

Jim ignored him. “How long was I out? What’s the situation on the planet?”

Bones sighed and ticked an eyebrow. “Spock recovered you roughly two weeks ago, Jimmy.”

“Two  _weeks_?!”

Bones snorted. “Yes, you idiot. Two weeks! Two  _weeks_  of you laying around like a pasha on his throne, driving everyone batty with enough worry that you wouldn’t snap out of it that it is my very great pleasure to inform you that you’ve been temporarily relieved of duty until such time as you can be debriefed by the admiralty for your fucking _moronic_ tendency to be  _perfectly fucking content with throwing away your life!”_

Jim blinked, twice. Bones was looming over him, so close that little flecks of spittle flew from his clenched teeth as he growled down at his patient and best friend. His hands were braced on one side of the sickbed, and Jim watched with a curiously detached air while Bones flexed his fingers, popping each knuckle and slowly letting go of the biobedso that he could stand up and resume his previously blase position against the wall.  Even with his fury, his attention never wavered from the biobed’s continuous readout. The silence was painfully loud and Jim slowly realized that he was not in the sickbay proper, but a little room off to the side that afforded quite a bit more privacy.

Jim opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. The drugs kept him from feeling the pain, but it didn’t do much for the guilt he was feeling. “I...” He started, thendidn’t quite know how to finish what he was going to say. Whatever it was that he was going to say.

Bones stomped over and took the cup out of JIm’s hand, dumping it and filling it with more ice water. Jim hadn’t even realized that he was still holding it. He took another slow sip, like the simple act would keep whatever Bones was gonna unleash at bay.

“I know that as soon as I leave here, you are going to hack your way merrily past the security and read my logs. And I know I can’t stop ya. But I will say this, Jimmy. You’re not going anywhere for awhile. I might...” Bones snorted. “ _Might_  let you go back to your quarters, but it won’t be until the Acting Captain has okayed it.”  Bones’ eyes sharpened, staring down at Jims own widened gaze. “Spock said that it’s gonna take you some time to sort through all the heebie-jeebie bullshit he used.” Bones’ grin flashed, completely unexpectedly. “Didn’t use those words exactly, mind you. But yeah. He’s the reason that you’re here, kid. I could put Humpty-Dumpty back together again, but it took that crazy bastard to convince your mind to come back to play. Cuz don’t you doubt it. You were lost, Jim. Completely locked away in that giant melon on top of your neck. Now, I have other patients to see to. No one’ll bug you. If you feel sleepy, go ahead and roll with it. God only knows what having your mind fiddled with will do to yourneuro sleep patterns.” Bones crossed back to the biobed’s readouts and tapped a few keys. “Head’s through there if you gotta pee. Call me if you’re feeling dizzy, cuzotherwise if you fall on your ass I’ll be completely fine leaving your stubborn behind there ‘til I’m goddamn good and ready to pick you up.” Bones didn’t make eye contact on his way out of the door, although the sudden gruffness in his voice spoke volumes about what he was feeling.

Jim blinked, overwhelmed at the flood of information.  He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together some of what had just happened.  He was back. He was safe. Spock had... done something. Something that Bones didn’t really approve of, but he had ultimately supported. Spock was... Captain, and Jim?

Jim was fucked.

***

 **_Chief Medical Officer’s Log, stardate_ ** **_2279.170_ **

“I’m not proud of it, but I did what I did and I stand by it. Spock won’t need to sleep as much as a human, and when he stops drooling into his pillow, he’ll be able to focus all that Vulcan rage into a plan that helps get Jimmy back.”

“Doctor McCoy, Ensign Trilby has presented with--”

“Computer. Halt transmission.”

_“Acknowledged.”_

***

 **_Chief Medical Officer’s Log, supplemental_ ** _._

“Hoo boy. I might have underestimated the rage thing. Best I stay out of his sight for a bit. My momma didn’t raise no idiot children. Scotty told me that he and Chekov have their heads together to engineer a rescue without violating the Prime Directive, but I have half a mind to just let Spock go to town. Give ‘im a phaser and a shuttlecraft and he’ll have Merik back here in chains, bleeding, begging for mercy. I mean the last time I saw him this pissed off Jimmy was sporting a ring of purple around his neck and well...”

[embarrassed-sounding cough]

“Truth is, I’m nervous. I’m sitting here, twiddling my thumbs while Spock engineers his plan to get Jim back on the Enterprise.  About the only thing  _I_  contributed was the fact that they keep thinking of him as a simple human, and while Jim isn’t on Khan’s level, he does have that megalomaniacal fucker’s red blood cells running amok through his system. Cleared up the crazy shit ; all the allergies, you name it. Jim still tests as within human parameters, but he’s just a little bit ...  _more._  Better reflexes, better respiratory rate... well I mentioned that as an aside to Spock once he woke up and I swear to God it was the only thing that kept me from choking on the hobgoblin’s fist after I sucker punched him with that hypo. He had this look on his face and. Well. It was something. Tell you what, our little Jimmy’s gonna have  _quite_  a surprise once Spock gets him outta this damnfool stunt of his.  Oh shit. That reminds me. Computer, schedule a full panel of cross-species STI vaccinations, Kirk, Captain, James T....”

***

 **-Security override,** **SC937-0176 CEC** **S,JTK:; Access Lt. Hendorff.**

“The Away Team has been completely assimilated into the planet’s culture, per the orders of Commander Spock. We are about ready to go. His orders are simple: Use thetranswarp device to beam down to the arena. Commander Scott will jam the broadcasting signal from the ship, and they’ve done something... well, it’s crude but it fits in with the technological advances of the planet’s time period. Basically a smoke bomb. Well, Spock’s version of a smoke bomb. We have optic barriers in place so that we won’t be affected by the smoke- long enough that we can get the Captain off that goddamn cross and back---”

**[Security Override, terminated.]**

Jim blinked down at his PADD, his confused frown becoming further pronounced more words appeared.

[Captain, Doctor McCoy was explicit in his wishes that you rest. You will find that your override has been temporarily suspended, as have past communications through the PADD, your communicator and the medical bed’s screen. Any crewperson found granting you access to any technological device not directly related to your medical recovery will be immediately reprimanded on record and remanded to the brig. Rest well.  _Sir_.]

Jim barely had a second to be outraged when the sound of Bones’ delighted laughter floated from the other side of the doorway. Of  _course_ Spock would have cc’d him for his little spurt of Vulcan bitchiness.

“God  _DAMN_ IT!”

***

Spock hadn’t visited him. Jim had been awake for twenty-six hours, and Spock had not seen him once. All Jim knew about the ‘hinky voodoo stuff’ was that Spock must have done something like that Old Spock guy, when he did the thing in the cave. The mind thingy. Shit. He didn’t even know what it was called. Bones became really shifty-eyed and usually remembered something urgent that he needed to be doing elsewhere when Jim brought it up. And Spock might as well have been dirtside, for all Jim could reach him with the whole communications ban.  Even Carol just shook her head and gave him an incomprehensible look when he tried his best to get her to lend him her PADD, and she’d only visited for about ten minutes. Chekov, Sulu, Nyota, hell. Even Scotty had stopped by. But not Spock.

As a ‘Plan B’ he thought it was pretty shitty, and Jim didn’t think that he was fooling Bones for a second, but so far, so good. He’d been released to go to his quarters, although Bones had been  _painfully_ smug when he told him that the communications ban was still in place even in the Captain's quarters.  Ship full of cocky assholes. Normally that was not a problem for him. Jim  _seriously_ approved of every one of the smug bastards that he lived and worked with, but sometimes they were fucking annoying. Like now.

So, plan B.

Jim limped into his quarters. He was surprised how hard it was to walk normally; how tired he was. It was completely crazy that after sleeping for what amounted to three days, not to mention the two weeks previous, he could still be this exhausted.  He knew Spock's schedule by heart, and while he had no assurances that he wouldn't be working late, Jim had recruited Carol to help shoo Spock from the labs, and Nyota to help shoo Spock towards his quarters, so he was cautiously optimistic that he'd be able to find his wayward Vulcan.

Bones had given him permission to take a  _real_  shower, and Jim indulged, losing himself for a few minutes in the hot, steamy water.

It felt beyond incredible to have that water slide over his naked body. Jim could feel the achy tiredness slowly dissipating as the strength of the water beat down on him. Jim slowly reached for Spock's shampoo. He couldn't say what made him do it. Instinct. Maybe stupidity, maybe even a little nervousness. In a split second between thinking about it and wondering if he should, it was done.

He and Spock had shared quarters since Jim has been assigned to the Enterprise. The first officers quarters and the captain quarters were separated by a shared bathroom. The first few weeks of working together had resulted in some awkward dancing around each other, until they both got used to Jim's absolute lack of body shyness. But, as with any other military organization, eventually when you had to share a close amount of space you just got used to it or you asked for a transfer. Personal boundaries- even  _Vulcan_ personal boundaries- had been relaxed in order for them to work and live together in relative harmony.

The lather of the shampoo on his hair smelled amazing, and it made him miss Spock all the more. even while he was doing what he could to familiarize myself with that scent. He liked the feeling; like Spock was there with him.

It was just that he missed him so much. Pathetic, really.

If pressed, Jim couldn’t say what made him feel like he and Spock had such a connection.  Lately, Spock would barely deign to work in the same room with him let alone visit him in the medbay. Hell, he’d only gotten that one message, and this was from two beings who generally had to speak to each other at least once every two hours just on ship’s business. But God Jim  _missed_  him, and if using Spock’s shampoo was the only way to connect to him, then Jim would take what he could get. He leaned one shoulder against the tile and just let the suds slide over his body, the scented steam swirling around him.

The scent surrounded him. That spiciness- that bit of Spock that he had always seemed ultimately Vulcan was apparently from his shampoo. Whatever it was, Jim couldn't help the way his stomach tightened at the scent-triggered memory.

It had been innocent.  Even on Jim's part, which had  _really_  been saying something.  Their shuttle had been 'a little bit waylaid' in the orbit of Magrell IV, and the Enterprise had been sent to deal with a quick milkrun of supplies in an adjacent solar system, which had resulted in six or so hours of enforced cuddling due to a temporary systems failure. Jim had been the little spoon, body too tense to enjoy the feeling of Spock behind him. But later, and privately, the heat of Spock’s body, the feeling of Spock’s breath on the back of his ear, the heavy weight of Spock’s arm around his chest as they tried to ignore the steadily dropping temperature in the shuttle kept Jim awake at night.  In the here and now, wrapped in the scent and humidity of the steam, it was easy to imagine what could have happened... had Jim thought he had a chance in hell of Spock returning any of his sentiment.

Jim was so lost in the fantasy that it wasn't until the shower door was jerked open, triggering the water’s auto-shutoff, that Jim realized that he wasn’t alone.  He opened his eyes in shock to find Spock standing there, face completely impassive as he stared at Jim. Spock’s gaze raked slowly from Jim’s wide eyes down his sud-covered body, before jerking back up to Jim’s face.

“You smell of me.”

Spock’s voice was so low that it was like some subsonic growl.  Jim knew it wasn’t just the cooler air of their shared bathroom that made him shiver. Jim had to try twice to get his throat to work. “Uh...”

“I have seen your mind Jim. I did not.. I was not aware that...” Spock looked to the left, eyes flicking down over Jim’s naked body in a brief caress before jerking awkwardly back to his face. He seemed to steel himself, swallowing visibly before continuing in the same, rich voice from before. Jim felt his heart start to pound. There was no way that he could be reading this wrong, could he?  Well, unless he was experiencing some mental psychosis from the drugs Bones gave him. Which she was pretty sure he wasn't.

Well, mostly sure.

Spock took a half-step closer, bringing his body so that it was  just a hair’s breath from his uniform touching Jim’s wet skin. In his ‘Fleet boots, Spock was tall enough that he had to look down at Jim. Jim couldn’t say why he took a step back. He didn’t even notice until the cooler temperature of the tile caused him to jump, then press himself back against the tile again, this time on purpose. Spock tilted his head and inhaled deeply, saying nothing.  “I find the proof that you carry my own scent most pleasing, Jim.”

Yeah. So, the possessive thing was totally working. If Spock stood any closer, he’d be able to feel exactly how much stirring against his hip. Jim made a strangled sound in the back of his throat when Spock brushed his nose lightly against the column of his neck.  Jim licked his lips and took a deep breath, reaching up one hand to rest lightly in the dip of Spock’s waist.

Spock jerked his head back and held Jim’s gaze for several heartbeats before speaking. “This is... acceptable?”

"I thought that the complexities of human humor escaped you." Jim tilted his head back slightly so that he could lick his lips again, this time very deliberately.  

"Often, yes. However, Doctor McCoy made it exceedingly obvious that it would not be in my best interests to use any of the information discerned from our meld without you having expressed your direct approval.  One would assume, that that would also include any acts of an intimate nature."

Their lips actually brushed against one another's before what Spock said had reached Jim's ears. Jim found the palm of his hand on Spock's chest before he had quite thought everything all the way through.

Spock almost snapped to attention before hastily stepping back and reaching for a towel.

 _Shit, no wait_. That wasn’t what he wanted. What he meant.  “Spock...”

But it wasn’t the Spock of a few minutes ago looking back at him. There was no hint of warmth in the line of his shoulders or the sudden rigidity of his spine.  It was as though some other, earlier Spock was there, showing how cold, how  _Vulcan_ , he could be. Spock  didn't even say anything before walking out of the small bathroom. Jim couldn't believe how surreal this was. Literally two seconds ago he was about to kiss Spock, and now he was standing here alone and still dripping from the shower.

What the fuck had just  _happened_?

***

Spock was shaking. What he had just done was anathema to one with which you had just shared your mind. Even worse, he was hiding. He  _knew_  it was hiding, but that did not stop him checking the Jeffreries tube that was showing an abnormal reading.  No one would know that his efficiency was non-existent, that he almost could not bear to face the reality of what he had just done.

Done to Jim.

Spock allowed himself four seconds for his hands to continue to shake, for his jaw to clench and helpless fury at his own infantile stupidity. Where was his  _logic_? Where was his experience, or his  cultural responsibilities? Did he not have an obligation to Jim especially now that he knew the particulars of Jim's beautiful, multifaceted mind?

Acting on reflex was the height of illogic. Given the fact that the last time Spock had acted so irrationally it was  _also_  in reaction to Jim, Spock had no other recourse but to.... to prove to his Captain that he could keep him safe.

A small, granule of an idea formed. The cons of this plan were negligible, for what sort of life would Spock live if Jim were not there to share it? Therefore Spock could focus on the pros and be content that he was acting in both his captain's and the Enterprise's best interests.

Much like when Spock had blithely ignored Leonard’s irate fury at Spock taking the initiative to meld with Jim, as though Spock had not waited with truly admirable patience for Leonard to attempt every single medical procedure in his vast array of knowledge before coming to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done to bring Jim out of where his mind was hiding, like a scared toddler peeking around the corner of their parent’s bedroom door.  

Or, while stranded on Magrell IV, in a shuttle that had malfunctioned to such an extent that later, while discussing this oversight with the ensign in charge of the shuttle's inspection, the burly human had escaped in a flurry of tears and apologies, only to run into Commander Scott, whose displeasure had been  _quite_ obvious _._  He had not appreciated the fact that one of his shuttles had been returned in such a state, and had only added the fact that Spock and Jim had been indirectly harmed as an afterthought.

An efficient first officer should always keep his captain’s safety at the forefront of his duties.

It was child's-play to subvert the computer security systems so that he could access the countdown to the planets window. He knew the timing, and could be sure that he acted at the perfect second. Commander Scott obviously attempted to lock it down, but Spock could easily detect the electronic signatures of Chekov on the security protocols. Spock had taught most of them to him after all.  

Fooling the ship's sensors into thinking he was still on board the Enterprise and  _not_ misappropriatingthe transwarp beaming device was slightly more taxing, but it kept Spock's mind off his blunder from earlier. His own scent entwining with Jim's together had gone straight to a base, almost feral place that Spock took care to rarely acknowledge.  He had liked it; crowding Jim into the shower, breathing in the heady aroma of Jim’s fresh clean scent.

Spock made his way to the transporter room and quickly dealt with the two ensigns on duty. He carefully made sure they would be in the recovery position when they woke up.

He had no use for a phaser; checking one out would alert security anyway. Spock didn’t bother to suppress the snarl at the fleeting, familiar memory of Khan using the device before he keyed in the numerical sequence that allowed the ships shields to lower for the time he would need to transport himself onto the planet.

Spock heard the startled squawk of Nyota as she and Scott came running, but only had time to flash her that ta’al before he was transported to Merik’s quarters.  The weight of the transwarp device was negligible as Spock quickly ducked behind a pillar, grateful that this planet’s technology was so ancient. The only security was human, and easily avoided as he worked his way stealthily towards Merik’s bedchamber.

The man’s bed was ridiculously plush. He had not had the time, nor the inclination to notice that the large circular bed had the space for six humans to lay side-by-side and not touch hands if they did not wish to do so. There were red and purple sheets and cushions strewn about. Spock could detect the scents of at least four different women, but saw no evidence of them in his bed. Spock bent to pick up one of the cushions and froze, almost light-headed with the possibilities as he looked at the silken fabric clutched in his hand.

It would be easy.  Spock could see it in his mind’s eye; the pillow over his face, his knuckles pressing it to his skin. Or perhaps, something that would help assuage the rage that he still carefully ignored. His fingers stretched around the man’s frail neck. Merik’s breathing patterns were indicative of heavy REM sleep. Likely he would never wake from...

Spock’s heart trembled in his chest and he turned, throwing the pillow as far from him as possible. It exploded against the wall in a flurry of feathers. Merik turned over with a mutter, then fell back into snoring.

There was a footstep behind him, one the Spock recognized quite well.  He jerked his head up and saw Leonard’s carefully blank face, hands held to his chest with his fingers spread, palms out as though warding off a blow.  “Believe me, I thought of it myself. I just thought that it’d be Jim standing here, not your fool ass,” the gruff doctor whispered.

Spock felt his entire being flush with shame.  

Leonard simply shook his head and gestured with his chin to where Merik lay sleeping. “Come on now. Let’s get this done. Besides, Jim’d kill me if I didn’t get your ass safely back to the ship. And don’t worry, I’m not about to spill the beans. Likely Jim wouldn’t believe me anyway.  _He_  didn’t see you go after that crazy asshole after you thought he was dead.”

Leonard sucked his teeth, a habit that Spock found most objectionable, but in light of recent events he thought it best not to remark upon this. He shifted, still trying to fight the flush on his face and walked to the far side of the bed, pointedly leaving the human-heavy transporter for Leonard to manage.  Merik was still sprawled without a care, asleep. Leonard swung the transporter up onto the bed with a grunt. Gravity caused Merik to roll into the center of the bed, where his hand brushed against the transporter with a small  _clink_  of sound from one of the many rings on his hand.

“Well,  _that’s_  convenient. I certainly didn’t want to touch the smarmy son of a bitch.”

Spock exhaled. He was very much aware that the tips of his ears were still flushed green. He carefully averted his gaze from Leonard’s amused one.   A glimpse of silver caught his eye and Spock leaned over the bed to retrieve it. He found that he was not surprised to see that Merik slept with a dagger near his bed, and before he could second-guess himself, he twisted on the bed, holding Merik’s hand with his knee and pressing the long edge of the dagger against the man’s neck.

Merik awoke with a gasp and a jerk, pressing himself back into the pillows to avoid the edge of the weapon.

_“You!”_

“I believe that the spill of your blood against the sheets would be quite aesthetically pleasing. It would take only a moment and you would never be able to hurt anyone else again.”

Spock could almost  _hear_  Leonard wondering if he was in control of all his faculties, but Spock wished to leave this here, in this foul place where Jim was so tortured instead of on his ship.  Leonard bent awkwardly, resting his hand against the transwarp device, the other hand resting heavily against the back of Spock’s neck. Spock smirked at the feel of the hypo hidden in the palm of Leonard’s hand. No doubt it would send even someone with his advanced metabolism into a sleep.  He allowed the muscles against Leonard’s hand relax; the only way he could show Leonard that he was not a threat, despite the charade on the bed.

"No! Wait! You can't do this! The P-p-prime direct-"

Leonard snorted. "Yeah Spock is really good with the Prime Directive. That Vulcan mind is rife with every nuance and bit of First Contact law. Not to put too fine a point upon it, asshole but you  _really_  fucked with the wrong Vulcan on this one."

Spock tightened his grip on the dagger not showing his surprise at the compliment, for what could be more true? The use of that particular colorful metaphor did rather aptly describe the situation. "I am within my rights to do this. Hurting the man who hurt my T’hy’la is well with the laws of this land. And since you're not originally from this world, and there is no violation of the Prime Directive.” Spock well remembered what the main character in his mother’s holovids would do in such a situation. He moved his fingers, allowing one tiny bead of blood to well up and trickle down Merik’s neck. “I am removing a blight on an otherwise perfect canvas."

"But...! you're a Vulcan. You  _can't!"_ Merik's voice was high-pitched with terror. His too-white eyes met Leonard's. "You can't let him do this!"

Leonard just shrugged.

“I am certainly capable, but killing you would bring Jim no pleasure. And, while I believe my  _katra_  would survive the stain of your death, I find that you are not worth the trouble it would cause.” Spock pulled back the dagger and quickly keyed in the sequence that would beam them back to the ship.

Later, after watching the security tapes over and over, Jim would tease him that perhaps using the transwarp device for his plan was a tad bit of overkill, but in the moment Spock had wanted to arrive quickly and have a way back just as quickly. Still, Spock could  admit to himself that arriving directly in the brig crouched over the terrified and bleeding Merik, with Leonard behind him was slight bit overdramatic.  

Lieutenant Hendorff handled himself with perfect aplomb, as though people materialized in his brig every day. Leonard quickly took a step back. One glance showed that the man was seconds away from bursting into laughter, and was biting his lips rather desperately.  Spock, who like the emotionally overwrought humans he lived and worked with, had no such issues with basic control of his facial features, simply rose and walked with Leonard to the brig glass, waiting patiently for Hendorff to allow them to exit. He handed the dagger to the waiting ensign and spoke clearly, with his own hands at their customary parade rest behind his back.

“This is R.M. Merik, recently of the merchant marine ship  _Beagle_. He is responsible for the torture of Captain James T. Kirk as well as the death of his crew, presumably in the same manner as Jim’s captivity as we ascertained Merik forced them to beam down to the planet and participate in the Games. He is to be held in the brig until we can offload him at the nearest starbase where he is to be tried for his crimes.” Spock turned to Merik, waiting patiently until the shocked human met his eyes. He allowed the rage that had yet to leave him to show on his face, in his own eyes, and watched with great satisfaction as Merik turned the color of milk. “To use the words of my colleague, you  _really_ fucked with the wrong Vulcan. ”

Spock allowed his lips to curl in a small smirk as he tugged down his uniform shirt and walked briskly to the lift. Right before the doors closed, Spock was able to see both Leonard and Hendorff staring at him with faces almost identical in their amused disbelief.

****

Spock carefully saw to his own ablutions, his natural fastidiousness ensuring that should this evening’s activities go as planned, he would be clean all over. For Jim.

Spock shivered, his pupils darkening in the mirror at the thought of Jim’s mouth on him. It had been three days and fourteen hours since he had retrieved Merik from the planet, and the Enterprise was currently docked at Starbase 37, where the crew had been ordered to a well-deserved shore leave. Merik had been escorted away and would likely never see the outside of a Federation prison facility for the rest of his life, especially once a heavily edited clip of some of the tortures Jim had endured had mysteriously been leaked to the Federation press. Jim was rather popular after all.  

Spock made a mental note to be certain to thank Nyota when he was not otherwise occupied.

He carefully smoothed his hair and forced himself to appear relaxed.  Spock turned and knocked on the door, waiting for the acknowledging beep before he walked through.  That was practically the first thing Spock had insisting upon modifying when he realized that he and Jim would be sharing a common bathing area; he had  _not_  wished for the cheerfully lecherous captain to ever see him nude.

Spock’s lips twitched at how much his opinion on this matter had changed.

Jim was seated at his desk, and looked up at Spock’s entrance. His lips stretched in a grin that did much to alleviate some of Spock’s trepidation.  

“I was just looking at the news reports on Merik. It seems like he’s talking about an ‘insane-with-rage Vulcan that held a knife to his throat’ as his defense. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Spock?”

“Perhaps.”

“Hmm.” Jim’s eyes danced with suppressed laughter as he hit a few keys to turn off the holodisplay. Spock had to take a deep, solidifying breath.

By unspoken accord (and helped tremendously by the fact that Leonard had released Jim to temporary light duty with the caveat that he had to be on his absolute ‘best damn behavior Jim, and I mean it!’), he and Spock had very carefully not discussed what had sent Spock back to the planet in search of Merik, both agreeing that it should wait until the both of them were on leave, without shipboard duties to distract them from what, Spock fervently hoped, would be a discussion of their future.

Jim stood and walked to Spock, biting his lip a little with nervousness.

“You know, as much as I want to kiss you right now, I guess we have some stuff to talk about. I should warn you, talks about feelings ‘n shit is not exactly my strong suit.”

Spock gave him a rather pointed look under one winged eyebrow. “Indeed.”

That made Jim laugh, as Spock had intended.

“Yeah, I guess they’re not exactly your strong suit either. Here, do you want to go to the mess, or eat something here? We could even go to the ‘base if you want because I heard there’s this little BBQ place that--”

Spock was hard pressed to find a word other than ‘adorable’ to describe Jim’s nervous babble. He spoke, reaching out to touch the top of Jim’s hand. “My preference is to stay with you, Jim.”

“Oh. That’s... oh.” He smiled again, with a quick flash of very white teeth. “Okay then. Do you want anything to drink? To eat?”

“I am fine, Jim.”

Jim’s smile turned a trifle wicked. “You know, someone once told me that ‘fine’ has variable definitions.”

“I find that with you, here, I meet each and every one of them.”

Jim leaned forward and kissed Spock then, pressing their lips lightly together. Spock had only experienced the Human way of mouth kissing with Nyota, and found himselfcataloguing the differences automatically.

Jim pulled away and licked his bottom own lip, as though chasing Spock’s taste, and it was Spock’s turn to act on instinct, following that wet line with his own tongue, licking into Jim’s mouth as it opened on a small gasp.

This was...  

Spock found that he did not have the words; that he did not  _care_  that he did not have the words to describe what kissing Jim felt like. The small scrape of stubble on Spock’s smooth cheek was as intoxicating as the low, dark sound that Jim made when he broke away for air. Spock followed the rough line of his jaw with the scrape of his teeth.

It was the feeling of Jim’s hand on his waist that caused Spock to slow down, to move back to Jim’s mouth and turn the kiss slowly from demanding to gentle, before stepping back and attempting to arrange his facial features into some approximation of normal.  

He was less than successful.

Jim seemed to understand, dropping himself onto one side of the couch and scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Yeah, wow. Sorry about that.” He peeked up at Spock through his fingers, grinning a little sheepishly. “Um. We should probably... talk. Before.. Uh. Other stuff.”

Spock sat down, angling his body slightly towards Jim’s. He reached out his hand, not entirely comfortable with being completely separated physically from Jim, only to find that Jim was doing the same thing. Jim’s fingers were warm as they closed around his.

Spock smiled, showing Jim the Vulcan kiss, then letting Jim take the lead and entwining their fingers together.  “Yes.”

They were quiet for a few moments as they each gathered their thoughts.

“When I stopped you before, it wasn’t for what reason you thought. God,no. I.. I’m not entirely sure what you thought actually, but you ran out of there like I set you on fire, so. Uh. Guess what I meant and what I actually said was a bit different.”

Spock exhaled heavily, remembering the scene with this new information. Jim had placed the palm of his hand on Spock’s chest. He was unaware that there were all that many ways to interpret said action, but he was quite eager to hear Jim’s explanation.

“It was the bit about what you got from my mind. I was just. I mean... do you guys use that mind whammy thing  all that often?”

“We do not. But it necessitates what you would term as ‘mind reading’, Jim. You were so far into your own mind that I had to go quite deep to find you. Leonard said that I was not to use what I had learned to ... take an unfair advantage of you.”

“Oh. Well, I wasn’t complaining. Only- it feels a bit like cheating. You know how I feel, no bullshit. And I know how you feel, no bullshit. It’s like...” Jim trailed off, staring off into space as he tried to put what Spock felt into the limited Terran vocabulary. “We just skipped ahead of all the awkwardness where I tried to get the balls to tell you what I feel. You just know. And, knowing that you know... it’s just...”

Spock’s eyes widened in slight panic.  “A mind meld is... as you would term it... ‘all or nothing.’ There is no room for half-truth.”

“Spock. Stop. I know. It’s fine. I’m completely not complaining here. Just commenting on the fact that it’s a bit weird is all.” Jim winced. “Er, strange. Unique. Not... in the realm of my normal dating practices.”

“I was unaware that you... date.”

Jim’s fingers tightened on his. “Vulcans are the high kings of comedy. Who knew?”

Spock allowed another small smile as he ran back through their conversation. The smile bled off of his face as though he had flipped a switch.  He turned to look at Jim, eyes narrowing slightly as several things became immediately apparent. “When you said ‘you guys’ you were not referring to Vulcans in general.” Spock attempted to sort quickly through the information that he had gleaned from Jim’s mind during their meld. “Which other Vulcan has had your mind, Jim? I would know the answer to this, please.”

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it. “I.. uh. I don’t know if I can...”

Spock’s eyes narrowed further as Jim attempted to disassemble.  “Jim.” Spock almost didn’t recognize his own voice as his abdomen tightened, some unidentifiable emotion choking him so that when he did speak, it was a deep, almost basso sound. He let go of Jim’s hand so that he could scoot closer towards him on the couch, then slowly reached out his hand towards Jim’s face.

“Spock! It was.. I mean it’s not that I don’t want to!  _Je_ sus!” Jim flicked at the tip of Spock’s ear with his middle finger and the juvenile  gesture was at once so surprising that it shocked Spock out of his actions.  He stared at Jim with his mouth slightly open, one hand held protectively over the tip of his ear. “Do I really need to say, ‘Bad Vulcan!’ to get you to stop? What the fuck was  _that_?”

Oh _this_ was an emotion Spock recognized. He had believed that Leonard catching him contemplating smothering Merik had been humiliating. That had been nothing,  _nothing_ to what he was feeling now. Perhaps this attempt at a relationship with another human was... a mistake. Spock had often been told that he was not Vulcan enough to keep a mate, and now he saw that he lacked the control to truly keep Jim safe... from  _him_. Spock jerked his gaze down to the floor, then attempted to spring away from the couch, but before he could, Jim’s fingers closed, vice-like around his wrist, keeping him in place.  To further ensure that he couldn’t move, Jim crawled right onto Spock’s lap.  

“Now. Answer my question and no bullshit.” Jim’s voice had hardened, and Spock found himself straightening as he would when his Captain ordered something on the bridge.  Spock had, however, never encountered the issue of trying to come to attention with his commanding officer sitting across his lap.  He still could not quite bring himself to meet Jim’s gaze, afraid of the disgust he would see there. “Spock.” Jim let go of Spock’s wrist, but his voice was no less commanding. “Yes or no. Were you just about to take that from my mind?”

“The likelihood that I would have foll--”

“ _Spock_!”

“Yes.”

Jim was quiet for a long, unbearable moment. Spock found himself tensing the longer Jim was quiet until he finally couldn’t bear it anymore and met Jim’s gaze. Once he did, Jim spoke. “See the thing is, I don’t know if I can be in a relationship with someone that I don’t trust. And I have to trust you, Spock. Whether we are together or not... it’s just. It’s important, and the one thing I won’t budge on.” Spock sucked in a breath and flattened himself back into the cushions, attempting to jerk his eyes away from Jim’s steady gaze. Spock could see the doubt and fear, and the anger that he had put there.

It was intolerable.

Jim would not let Spock hide, instead reaching up with one fingertip and slowly turning Spock’s head so that their eyes met once again.  Spock was almost painfully aware that he could remove himself from this position should he so choose, but also understood that in doing so he would lose any chance he had with this utterly fascinating creature in front of him.   When he felt that he had gained the control so that he could do so without his voice trembling or cracking, Spock spoke. “You are correct to not do so. I. I am.... my intention was not to harm you, but I was infuriated at the thought of you protecting... the ...” Spock could not say _lover_. He would shatter into a million pieces if he did so. “..the  _Vulcan_ with whom you have previously...”

“Oh. So wait a second, you don’t want me if someone else had me first?” Jim’s voice was angry now as he started to maneuver himself up off of Spock’s lap.

“Yes! That is to say..” Spock placed both of his hands on Jim’s waist, carefully, lightly so that he was not forcing Jim in any way, but hopefully halting his movement. “No, I will always want you. That is not...”

Jim’s glare softened as he stared at Spock, until he slowly lowered himself back onto Spock’s lap. Spock couldn’t help the way his hands flexed briefly on Jim’s waist before relaxing and resting there harmlessly.

“Huh. I guess I spoke too soon. We can manage to fuck this up, even with a meld.”

“We are both tremendously talented.” Spock spoke cautiously, completely out of his depth. He had no idea how to proceed from this point forwards.

“Give me your hand.” Spock did so without hesitation. “You trust me, right?”

“Always.”

JIm clumsily brought Spock’s hand to the meld position, and Spock couldn’t help the shocked grunt he made when the tips of his fingers brushed over the psionic points on Jim’s face. He likened it to a small jolt of electricity, only he could feel it deep within his  _katra_ , as was only proper with one’s mindmate.

Spock heard himself speaking as through some long tunnel, and Jim’s mind opened up to him, and Spock’s to his, and there was an almost physical  _click_  as through two pieces of a puzzle had joined together--

  


Jim’s mind was very organized. Almost tidy. Spock had not had the leisure to look around before, and he only did so now carefully, wary of upsetting the fragile-seeming trust Jim had in him. He almost appeared to be in a ancient-seeming study, with rows and rows of neatly shelved books spread out in all directions. Spock carefully inspected the titles, keeping his hands clasped behind his back so as not to give into the increasingly curious temptation to touch. There was one spot on the floor that was clear, housing only a couch that stood alone in the empty space, much like in Jim’s quarters on the Enterprise. Spock hastened to seat himself, looking around for Jim.

_Can you blame me? That was kind of a dick move._

_I am aware. And no, I do not blame you for my reactions. They were possessive, wrongfully jealous, and stupidly hurtful, and while I do not deserve your forgiveness, I wish you to know that I will never hurt you again._

_You can’t really promise that you know._

_... Again. You are correct. Still, I promise to do my best._

Jim appeared on his lap again, straddling his legs and wiggling a little to get comfortable. Spock had the most bizarre double-vision for just the briefest instant; he and Jim locked together outside of Jim’s mind, mirrored in the exact same position inside of it.

_Just for the record, it wasn’t some random Vulcan in my mind. It’s not like I’m going down there on my days off and letting them frolic around in here like puppies with a new chew toy._

_That_  mental image was so disturbing that Spock could not help the broad grin that stretched his face.

_It was you, you moron. Right after Vulcan... went. Other you mind melded with me._

A brief flare of jealousy that Spock could help no more than his breathing, and Jim rolled his eyes on top of him, huffing out a sigh.

_And since the world hasn’t exploded, we can conclude that ‘Other you’ is full of shit._

_I am ... curious about something, Jim._

_Of course you are._

_Why is it that you are not more... disturbed about how I we are speaking? My own mother often said that it took her several years to get the ‘knack’, and even then she felt quite uncomfortable speaking mind-to-mind, even after years of practice._

_Oh. Well, Bones says I have a slight bump on the psychic scale. Not enough to use offensive or defensively. Basically just enough to give me a nudge in the right direction when I need one, and right now... I gotta say, that that nudge is glad that I am here. With you._

Jim’s laugh was sun-bright. 

_So, no bullshit right?_

_None, my Jim._

Jim let out a nervous puff of breath.  

_Well, then. I love you, Spock. I wanted to say it, with no way for you to misconstrue what I’m saying. We keep zigging when one of us is meant to be zagging, and frankly it’s getting a little old._

_I-I am not well-versed in mind-techniques. My counterpart was teaching me when our schedules have permitted, but I will make mistakes as I... acclimate myself to this way of Vulcan culture. But. You must know that I. I adore you, my Jim. Your mind is endlessly fascinating to me, and I am most grateful that you have allowed me to share it._

Jim blinked and lunged forward, only to find that Spock had met him halfway, and they--

  


broke out of the meld again with hardly a blink of acknowledgement, Spock’s fingers moving to tangle in Jim’s hair, Jim’s mouth pressing into his with helpless passion, again and again until Spock was dizzy with lack of oxygen. Jim’s hands moved down and under his shirts, pushing them out of his way until they had to break apart so that Spock could tear them up and over his head.

Spock was aware that he was thrusting slightly up into Jim’s groin, the slight friction sending his breath hitching, Spock’s heartbeat a mad tattoo in his side. Spock quickly did the same to Jim’s t-shirt, sending it flying across the room. He pressed his fingers against the musculature of Jim’s back, sliding down and over his rear end so that Spock could press them together more fully, arching up into the heat and matching hardness of Jim.

Jim cried out and pressed his forehead to Spock’s collarbone, sucking in great lungfuls of air as Spock continued to grind them together, perfectly content to find his release in his trousers, with Jim pressed so closely against him that he could feel Jim’s heartbeat. He quickly slid his fingers under the elastic of Jim’s sleepwear, pressing his hands against the globes of Jim’s buttocks.

“Spock..” Jim bit at his shoulder and it was Spock’s turn to cry out, unable to contain a small moan at the sensation of Jim’s teeth on him. “I want. This is... this is amazing, but I want you in-” Jim stopped when Spock slid one finger between his cheeks, sliding and pressing against his hole, before sliding the fingertip back up. With Spocks other hand, he held Jim to him, “--fuck. Yeah. Inside me.” Spock teased again at the rim, then stood up, holding Jim’s weight with a negligent ease.

Jim kicked off his sleep pants with a kick so forceful that he almost managed to knock Spock off balance, but Spock anticipated this, swinging them so that Jim’s back was against the wall briefly before kissing Jim again. Jim’s legs tightened around him, pressing the full length of his penis against Spock’s stomach. Spock groaned again at the slick wetness he felt there, and he shifted so that he could get one hand around Jim, and the other holding Jim to him with his hand pressed tightly against the curve of his rear end.

“Spock!... oh! Oh, _god_.”

Spock measured the weight of Jim’s penis in his hand, staring down at his fingers wrapped around the dusky pink shaft, watching his own thumb brush against the spongy, slick head. Jim shuddered in his arms and Spock did it again, and again until Jim tore his mouth away to cry out again, his eyes closed and the back of his head knocking against the wall with a small  _thud_.

Spock reached up to taste what he could, and closed his own eyes at the salty bitterness. He blinked at Jim’s delighted laugh. “Come on, Spock. I have a perfectly nice bed right there. I want to taste you, too.”

Spock found the thought of that  _profoundly_  agreeable, and hastened to comply, only to curse himself for dressing to meet Jim in boots. He set Jim on the bed, who scrambled back and lay there against the pillows, laughing a little up at Spock’s haste to strip himself of his uniform trousers, boots and socks.

Jim stroked himself lazily, staring at Spock with a smirk on his face.

“You are certain that the Doctor has cleared you for all strenuous activity?” Spock ignored the indignity of the little hop he gave as he unzipped his left boot, kicking it back towards the couch. He stripped his last sock off with a frustrated flip of his hand and leaned down at the foot of the bed, crawling towards the vee of Jim’s body.

Spock was pleased to notice that his query quickly knocked the smirk off Jim’s face.

“Yesss,” Jim’s answer was a drawn-out hiss as Spock licked at his ankle, sliding his hands up the inside of Jim’s legs and placing them where he wished them to be. Jim sucked in a breath and grabbed himself at the base tightly, presumably so that he would not orgasm at the sensation of Spock’s teeth on the anklebone.

“Turn over, Jim.”

“I.. oh.  _Fuck_ , Spock.”

“In good time. I wish to taste you first, if that is amenable.”

Jim blinked, then scrambled to turn over, fisting his hands in the sheets. His penis bobbed heavily between his legs, and Spock adjusted him again, placing Jim’s limbs where he wanted them.

Then he leaned forward and bit one tempting cheek, smiling against Jim’s skin when his human squeaked and jumped forward a little, before settling back. Spock slowly kissed to the crease of skin, spreading Jim apart gently with his hands and staring for a moment, mouth dry at the dusky pink pucker of skin.

Spock sucked in a deep breath and leaned in, lapping gently at the rim before wiggling the tip of his tongue inside of Jim’s hole. Jim was so hot here, and the humidity of Spock’s breath was almost addictive, as Spock licked at him over and over.

Dimly, Spock was aware of Jim’s cries as he worked at him, covering the skin with saliva, licking and blowing at it until Jim was dry, before starting again. Spock held Jim so that he could not rock back into Spock’s tongue, keeping him still so that Spock could do his best to break him apart with only his mouth.

Jim was very tight, and Spock had to work the muscle patiently with his tongue until he could lick slowly around the rim, teasing and teasing until Spock had to jerk away to breathe, and wipe the saliva off his chin with his forearm before climbing up and sliding his own penis against Jim’s gluteal cleft. They both moaned at the sensation of Spock folding his body against the curve of Jim’s spine, pressing against Jim’s sweat-slicked skin.

Jim fumbled forward, opening the small door in the headboard and pressing the small tube of lubrication back against Spock’s hand.

Spock grabbed it with a smile, then kissed his way down the knobs of Jim’s spine. His own penis gave an almost painful twitch when Jim cried out his name again, and Spock knew that he could not possibly draw this out as long as he wished to.

“You are ready for me, my Jim?”

Jim just jerked forward in answer, balancing his weight on the mattress with one shoulder so that he could reach back to spread his own cheeks with his hands. Jim turned his head, awkwardly meeting Spock’s shocked gaze with his own.  “Please,” was all Jim said, and Spock could deny them no longer.

The tube was half empty, and Spock bit his bottom lip imagining how Jim must have used it alone, in his room with Spock on just the other side of the bulkhead, unknowing.  Spock moved back down, pressing at the sides of Jim’s hole with his thumbs and licking at him again, thrusting his tongue inside of him over and over, until Jim was pressing his screams into the mattress in an attempt to muffle the sounds. Spock slicked up one finger and slid the tip inside of Jim, only to press forward almost immediately until the finger was buried. He slid it out and back in, slowly stroking the inside walls until he felt the muscle relax. He removed his finger, added more lubrication and worked at Jim’s opening until two fingers fit comfortably, going as slowly as either of them could stand, until Jim was rocking back against three fingers with a sharp cry.

“Spock, oh now Sp--oh. oh, christ, please, Spock, _please!_ ”

Spock removed his fingers with a wet-sounding squelch and pressed his forehead against Jim’s thigh, sucking in deep breaths tinged with the scent of their mingled sweat and pheromones. It was intoxicating.

Even though his own penis was weeping fluid copiously, so much that his testicles were wet with his own need, Spock still made sure to slick his phallus, a strangled groan escaping his throat.

Jim turned over, gasping for breath, watching Spock’s hand greedily. “I wanted to do that. You didn’t even let me touch you.”

“You must.. not or I will spill like an adolescent.”

Jim sucked in a startled laugh. “That could be hot you know.”

“Perhaps, but I wish for this to end differently, if you are still amenable.”  Spock moved so that he was kneeling on the bed, staring down at Jim below him.

“Oh yeah. Definitely amenable. Just want to.. uh. Here.” It took two tries (a fact that Spock told himself he was  _not_ smug about) for Jim to manage to get to his own knees, pushing Spock towards the headboard so that Jim could swing his leg across Spock’s lap. “Is this okay?”

“Affirm..ah, ohh.” Spock trailed off at the feel of Jim’s slick hole rubbing against the head of his penis. Spock reached up and out, gripping the headboard tightly with his hands as Jim slowly worked himself down over Spock’s penis, moving until he was fully seated on Spock, so that his testicles bumped gently against his pelvis.

Jim leaned forward and brushed his lips against Spock’s almost chastely, trembling a little as his body adjusted to Spock’s size and girth. The feeling of being inside his Jim was _indescribable._

“Put your hands on me, Spock. Please.  _Please_.”

Spock did, with his own hands trembling, resting them on the jut of Jim’s hipbones. “You must touch yourself Jim. I must see…” Spock trailed off as Jim began to slide his closed fist over himself, holding one hand against Spock’s shoulder for balance.  Spock took Jim’s mouth with very little finesse, almost biting at the kiss-swollen lips until Jim began to move, sliding up and down until Spock was able to pick up his rhythm, pulling Jim up and taking his weight, only to thrust up back inside.  Spock knew that he would never forget the sight of his own penis disappearing into Jim’s body, or of Jim’s hand blurring over his own shaft as he stroked himself.

“Spock!” Jim began to cry out and Spock understood what he wanted, fumbling once again to join their minds as their bodies shuddered into the bliss of sensation, losing all sense of who was whom, and what part belonged to where. They were together in every way possible, joined so completely that they both knew that nothing would ever, could never separate them again.

  


***

**EPILOGUE**

“So... this isn’t exactly my thing, you know?”

Jim found himself biting the inside of his cheek at the irony of the understatement. Bones was not one of the world’s most comfortable public speakers, but when Jim had asked him to speak for him at their joining ceremony, the grouchy doctor’s eyes had become almost suspiciously wet and it had taken him two tries at clearing his throat before he could say yes.

Spock, seated next to Jim at the high table, reached under the tablecloth to join their fingers together. Jim felt a small glow of satisfaction that Spock no longer felt any restraint at the affectionate gesture, content to slide their fingers together in a Vulcan kiss whenever the mood struck him. He was never inappropriate while they were on duty, but off-duty was quite a bit more relaxed.

“When Jimmy asked me to speak at this here shindig, I admit that I panicked a bit. I get more nervous than a longtail cat in a room fulla rocking chairs when I have all of youlookin’ up at me like this, but I’d be damned if I was going to skip my shot to... gloat. Yeah, that’s right,  _gloat_.”

Jim’s cough fooled no one, least of all Bones, who grinned at him rather wickedly before continuing.

“You think it’s easy playin’ matchmaker to these two? You’re a damn fool if you say yes, and I don’t mind telling you so. Now, I admit that I had some help here and there.Me, Nyota, Chekov, Sulu, and even Scotty all managed to orchestrate things so these two idiots would get their heads out of their hind parts and admit that they were crazy about each other. But did they? Nope. No, they did not. In fact, it took someone completely out of left field to be able to bring these two lovebirds together--”

Spock took a drink of his red wine, straightening his shoulders, clearly anticipating that Bones was about to thank him for his part in Merik’s capture.

“--Khan!”

Spock choked, spewing the wine onto the table. Jim lost it, trying to snicker quietly as he helped a equally horrified and furious Spock clean up his mess and stop coughing.  The crowd did a truly spectacular thing where no one managed to stare at them, and everyone ignored everyone else’s coughs as they strangled laughter.

The last time Jim had seen Bones had smile this much had involved two sets of Orion twins and thirteen hours of uninterrupted shore leave.  Bones waited patiently for Spock to quit coughing before continuing.

“Yep. Khan’s responsible for the two of you here today. Without that megalomaniacal fuckhead, Spock would never have realized that he didn’t want a life without Jim in it.And Jim? Jim wouldn’t have had the little boost of super-blood he needed to hold out until we could get him back with us again. Funny old world, isn’t it?”

Bones sighed, part of his smile fading away, leaving his face in its customary smirk. “Anyway, we’re all here now, and it all worked out okay in the end, didn’t it? Far be it from me to put words in anyone’s mouth, but I think neither of them would change anything.” Bones raised his glass, and the rest of the crew and guests echoed his movement. “You two fought quite a fight to get here today, and I guess I just wanted to thank you for letting me tag along. Someday I hope to find someone who loves me even...” Bones’ voice got rougher as he spoke. “Even a half’s bit as much as you two love each other. So I toast the both of you. Jimmy? Spock? I wish you all the happiness that there is in this universe. Alone you might not have found it, but together you are unstoppable.”

Jim had to blink a few times as everyone started whistling and cheering, the sea of faces blurring a bit as he blinked rapidly for a few minutes.  Spock leaned over and kissed the very tip of Jim’s nose, a quick, careless little gesture that sent more than a few of their guests ‘aww’ing in approval.

“You are well, my Jim?”

Jim nodded and shifted so that he could press their foreheads together. They kissed, only hamming it up a tiny bit for the crowd. Spock  _did_  know him after all, and was willing enough to show him off- although Jim had more than a sneaking suspicion that Spock’s willingness for a public display of affection was more him proclaiming ‘hands-off!’ to the crowd than any actual desire to show off. They pulled apart and Jim was struck with the absolute surrealness of what they had gone through to get here, from the Kobayashi Maru to the tortures he had survived and trumphed over at Merik’s hands. He couldn’t help the rather goofy smile that crossed his lips as he stared into hisbondmate’s eyes.

“I am. With you, Spock, I always am. And always will be.”

  


The End

A/N: IT’S DONE HOLY JESUS / **FALLS OVER.**   Whew! I hope that you enjoyed this story. As I said waaay back when I started it (almost a year ago *wince*) Romanse bid on me for the [big24](http://thebig24.livejournal.com/)  a fandom run auction for HIV/AIDS research. She actually paid real, live money for this and I cannot be more honored or grateful that someone admired my writing enough to donate for something so amazing. She has been endlessly patient. When I warned her that I write slowly, I don’t think that she anticipated just  _how_ slowly, but anyway. I hope it was worth the wait!!

A few other thanks, then I’ll shut up and let you continue with your day. As always, Jlm121 is my best friend, head kicker of my procrastinating behind, and all-time cheerleader and I love her to bits.  <3, bb. Thanks for all of the things! Also, in this process people’s schedules get out of whack with school starting and new jobs on the horizon and whatnot. Thanks to thatworldinverted, and diva0789 for the early beta of that first, painful chapter. Love you guys!! I was lucky enough to meet a very special person, Foxyk. She emailed me off of the k/s archive asking if I still need a beta. Lo and Behold I did... and she is amazing. You guys have no idea of what this looked like before she got her hands on it and I cannot thank her enough for the wrangling of my comma splices, to say nothing of those dreaded tense issues. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

As for the choice to tell this story with the non-linear narrative. Eh. I had that first chapter completely in my head and liked how it ended up... then had the backstory sort of unfold to lead up to it. It was a challenge, to say the least (you would not  ** _believe_**  the story notes for this, oh my  _God_!) and I hope that I pulled it off without there being too many crazy jumps in the pacing or storytelling.  As always, thanks so very much for reading. If you would like to [follow me on tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/) for ramblings and other story updates, feel free.

‘Til then, thanks for reading!!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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